Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?
by xX-Misty
Summary: Gene doesn't know where he is, or when he is, or for that matter *who* he is. There's an awful lot of blood on his hands and it keeps happening, again and again, but can he really be responsible for all those deaths and injuries? The only thing he knows for certain is that he's in serious trouble and there's only one woman he can turn to for help - not that she knows who he is...
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

As he backed away from the body, shaking violently, he couldn't believe it had happened again. He'd killed another one, or at the very least was damn close to it. Seeing her face, silent and still, would haunt him forever just as all the other stock-still faces of people so familiar to him already played through his mind in a perpetual loop, one after another.

This wasn't the end either. He knew that. The pattern was just going to keep on repeating; one after another he'd find their blood on his hands. One after another he would kill them or maim them, or see their life in the balance and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. Blood on his hands… quite _literally_ their blood was on his hands. He was running again, not that it seemed to do any good because he'd just find himself somewhere else with the same old loop repeating, and he just couldn't stop it from happening.

There had to be a way out. He had to break the cycle. He couldn't let this go on forever. He knew there had to be a way to stop it – and he knew there was one person who just might be able to to help him.

**~xXx~**

**Some time in the past**

As soon as Alex saw the grim faces at the doorway she just knew.

Her bond with Gene was so strong that no one even had to say a word, she knew that the operation at the docks had gone awry somehow. In fact, shed known something wasn't right all day. She'd been on edge from the moment she'd woken up that morning with a strange churning feeling in the pit of her stomach and a shudder that constantly passed over her shoulders.

She should have said something but she didn't want Gene to think she was paranoid, or worse than that – downright crazy. She could just imagine what his reaction would have been if she'd begged him not to go on the reasoning that she _had a bad feeling._

But as she saw the sombre faces in the doorway she'd have given anything to go back to that morning, make him stay in bed, implore him to listen to her instincts – she'd have cuffed him to the headboard if necessary.

There was no putting it off any longer. She had to bite the bullet and ask;

"_What's happened_?" she whispered, dreading the answer.

It wasn't quite the answer she had been expecting.

"Gene's disappeared."

**~xXx~**

**Some Time in the Future**

The pain that seared through his head and neck were the first thing he felt. He had to be honest, they were really making him not want to open his eyes. Where was he, anyway? He suspected he wasn't still in the last place he remembered being. What happened? Shit, his memory wasn't working very well. There was some kind of operation… down at the docks. Illegal immigrants, that was it. He thought it had gone fairly well. In fact, he was _certain_ of it. He remembered a lot of handcuffs, some fancy gun work, a lot of flat tyres and getting kicked in the shin by a pissed-off truck driver.

Alright, so if things had gone well, then why did he feel –

He stopped thinking for a moment as his head throbbed again. Had he hit it somewhere? Had he fallen? Had someone knocked him around the head with one of those wooden crocodiles in the vast metal shipping container? He was too fuzzy on that part. Couldn't remember at all. _Back up a bit… back up…_ what was the last thing he _did_ remember?

Oh yes, that copper. He didn't know him. Looked a bit like he was trying to do an impression of the thin one from Laurel and Hardy… who he also couldn't remember properly at that point… which one was the thin one again? He thought it was Stan Laurel but he wasn't sure, and it wasn't important anyway. Whichever one was which, the copper looked like the thin one and acted like him too, bloody weedy idiot.

He remembered the panicked officer running up to him with a tale of woe; what was it again… woman's body beside the docks?

He remembered running. He didn't tell anyone where he was going, they were all busy attending to the operation at hand. If it was a body he didn't need any help anyway; he'd check it out and then radio it in.

_Somehow I don't think there was a flaming body after all,_ he thought to himself as he tried to move.

A little more sensation came back. Wha… what the hell was that? There was some kind of tube down his throat. He wanted to splutter and choke when he realised, but he couldn't move. Why the hell couldn't he _move?_ What happened exactly? Where was he? Where the bloody hell _was_ he?

Opening his eyes wasn't easy. He wasn't even sure he wanted to see what just was around him. But eventually he had to know.

Wires, white walls and beeping monitors.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

_Bugger._

**~xXx~**

**Some time in the future, in the past…. Or in the past, in the future…**

She scanned the list of appointments in her diary. She'd been so _sure_ she didn't have one between her two o'clock and four o'clock and she'd only checked that morning. She was going to use that time to catch up on her paperwork.

"I thought I had this slot free," she complained to the young man who stood at her door.

"You did, but I'm afraid this _gentleman_ wouldn't leave," the man told her nervously "he said it's an emergency and that you'd see him. He says you go way back."

"Well it would help if you'd give me his name?" she pulled the band from her long brunette locks and redid her doubled-up ponytail as a few rogue strands of hair fell around her face.

"He wouldn't say," he told her apologetically, "I mean, he told me his name but then his driving license had a different name written on it and I don't know which is the real one."

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Oh, let's just get this over with," she said, "show him in. I'll give him half an hour, then you can get security."

The young man nodded to her and hurried away. There was silence for a few moments then some angry grunting in the distance followed by a strange, metallic noise. It sounded a bit like the clanking of something hitting a filing cabinet. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Nervously she stepped away from the door a little and awaited the unexpected patient.

Just a few moments later a large, looming figure appeared at the doorway. His broad shoulders were hidden away beneath clothes he was clearly uncomfortable with; his fair hair looked like he hadn't washed it in weeks, his blue eyes focused and determinedly bore into hers as he stared upon her face and his hands were encased in leather gloves that he clenched together as though searching for a hint of familiarity.

She was taken aback by his appearance. There was something extremely powerful about his presence but hauntingly sad about his soul. Although he'd claimed they went '_way back'_ she couldn't place him at all.

"Do I know you?" she asked cluelessly.

He stared at her. He wasn't sure how to answer that.

"I don't know," he said, "But you're about to."

She took a step back nervously.

"I am, am I?"

He nodded.

"Even if you don't know me, I bloody know you –" he looked her up and down, "inside _and_ out." He swallowed. "I'm in serious trouble, Bolly. I need yer help…"

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: OK, I know that was probably the most confusing prologue ever, I'm sorry – that was just the way my head presented it to me so I went with it and I promise the chapters will actually make more sense. Well, most of them will… Well, some of them will…. (seriously, chapter 1 will be nice and easy to follow, you have my word, cross my heart and hope to die… or at least to be extremely mean to Kim and take all her hope away… :P)**_

_**This fic is kind of different, it follows on from the end of What Do You Want From Me? but is more of a stand-alone than the others in the series. It's also a bit weird and it's melting my brain to try to work out how I'm going to write this one so updates won't be as regular as usual! I will be writing some other stuff at the same time and will hopefully get into an update rhythm soon. Hooray for one-handed typing!**_

_**Also, sticking with my tradition of naming fics after songs, this 1997 hit was just perfect for the title of this one – I actually kept it out of WDYWFM? to use as the title for this one!**_

_**I clearly do not own A2A. I have already said this about eight million times so I am sure everyone is aware of this fact :P**_


	2. Chapter 1: A Period of Adjustment

**Chapter 1**

_A period of adjustment._

That was the phrase that came to mind.

Gene watched CID from the door of his office. There had been a lot of changes in a short space of time and he was just starting to get a firm grasp over proceedings again. It was mid-march and Alex had been back home for two months now. Gene was only _just_ starting to believe that she really wasn't going anywhere again. She no longer had a physical presence in the real world; her body dead and her life at an end. She was committed to Gene and Fenchurch East now and she wasn't going anywhere. While there was still a part of her struggling with the sacrifices she'd made and those she'd left behind Alex had fought long and hard to find her way home to Gene and was doing her best to make the most of every minute.

There new house was now half-decorated. Gene was still finding splashes of paint In unexpected places but they were settling well into their new home. This time it really felt like _their_ home instead of belonging to Alex with Gene being some kind of lodger with benefits. They had yet to start making wedding plans and as yet they hadn't braved the subject of children again but there was no rush, not for anything now. Alex was at no risk of developing a serious case of the_ vanishies._ They had forever together.

It had taken some getting used to seeing Alex in a younger body again, not to mention one that had been inked. Not that Gene was complaining. He got to learn Alex's body all over again, inch by inch, off by heart. She was a bit too skinny but he had plans for that involving his famous fry-ups and frankly depraved uses for squirty cream. He was also learning all over again how much he loved her being back at work. Her department had been re-established and since she had returned she had taken two of his four new recruits off his hands. Having her presence around was wonderful for both personal and professional reasons he always knew she was just down the corridor if he needed a psychologist's point of view, while the knowledge that he could run into her at any time around the building made each day a little more worthwhile.

He hesitated to admit it for fear of cursing things but for once life was good.

An example of his _new and improved_ life came when his computer made a strange noise which caused him to swear and complain about new-fangled technology with bells and whistles until by process of elimination he discovered that it was trying to tell him he had a new email. He didn't approve of all the technology bollocks that they were being forced to incorporate into their daily work but the fact that Alex's name was in his inbox quelled his techno-hatred for the time being.

"The one worthwhile use for the information superhighway," he mumbled to himself.

He clicked on the message and read the text that appeared.

"_Gene,"_ it began, "_currently testing out the new photographic technology acquired by the emerging narcotics division. Please see attached photograph for further indications of the importance of the new equipment. Alex."_

He scrolled down and waited as the picture formed very slowly, line by line; his face growing hotter and more surprised with each row of pixels that appeared.

"Bloody _hellfire_, Bolly," he breathed as he fanned himself with a nearby copy of _Computers for Dummies_. He made sure that he studied the image thoroughly for some time to make a full evaluation before he typed back _slowly_ –

"_DCI Drake, I do not believe this is an authorised use of police technology. Please have the photographed objects ready for inspection at around 10 pm this evening."_ he looked all over for the '_send'_ button, tried hitting the monitor a few times, finally located it and sent the message. That was _his_ evening sorted out, anyway.

He found himself staring into the office again. CID too was beginning a new era. There were new faces, and new starts for the established ones. DC Marci Fell and DS Jake Dawson were settling in well. They were both DOA so they had none of the hang-ups that knowing you were in a halfway-state brought and just lived their lives as though they'd always been there. Marci was a bright and compassionate soul with a very real skill for dealing sensitively with members of the public. Despite bearing a very strong similarity to Scary Spice she wasn't at all scary by nature to anyone... except for an amorous Eddie, that is.

Eddie tried to convince himself that he would win her over eventually and to persuade himself that it was _not_ a rejection and she was probably just already bonking Jake. But Jake was more interested in starting a relationship with the chocolate vending machine in the corridor than he was with Marci they were firm friends but there was more chemistry between Gene and the large bottomed canteen worker then there was between the two of them.

Jake was a very hard worker. He dedicated himself to his job. Ambitious and keen to move through the ranks, he was always the first to volunteer for the nastiest, messiest tasks to prove his worth. Despite his dedication to duty he had a perfectly innocent look, his blonde hair slicked backwards and his attire looking like something straight out of a squeaky-clean boy band's latest appearance on top of the Pops.

Gene was glad he at least kept the two recruits with brains. Alex could deal with Bozo One and Bozo Two.

He saw Simon arrive, talk to Jake and Marci for a moment, laugh and then exit the office. That was another bizarre change, Gene thought to himself of Simon's increasing acceptance of his place in the world.

The revelation of Simon's parentage had thrown more than a spanner in the works; it had deposited a ruddy great _toolbox_ full of them there. Gene was never going to make an attempt at being a father figure to Simon but their genetic connection had given him a great deal to think about… what it meant for the _world_ for one. Sam had spoken about Simon being the bridge between the two worlds Gene hadn't figured out the implications for that yet.

Simon's personal situation had also changed radically. After longing for months and months to be reunited with Robin the shock of his relationship with Kim had thrown Simon completely. He didn't know how to get over a love that he'd spent more than a year waiting for. Initially it had managed to smash an already broken Simon to splinters but after Robin's death things had been different. While he still held hopes that maybe one day Robin would draw closer to him again there was another side of Simon that truly couldn't feel angry and bitter any more, and with Gene confirming that Kim would almost certainly be unable to ever return to Fenchurch East Simon didn't feel threatened by her any more.

For the first time, Simon was starting to embrace life at Fenchurch East. He was getting stuck into his work, making new friends and had finally be given his own 'local'. The closing of _Bask_ was a double-edged sword while on one hand Simon felt flattered to have his own equivalent of the Railway Arms and finally felt on the same level as Gene and Alex he really missed having a place to go. _Bask_ had been his hangout from his first night in Gene's world. It was going to be hard to replace that.

Gene knew not everyone was having a time of good fortune. Robin was doing his best to keep himself together after finding himself taking up permanent residence in Gene's world and being separated from Kim. He spent the days wearing a mask that he only let drop in private but the bags under his eyes told Gene he wasn't doing as well as he tried to make out.

Gene finally had an understanding of what it was like to be separated from someone by the line that ran between life and death. It had taken decades but he finally knew what it was like to be in the position of someone who'd been afflicted by this cruellest fate. He was lucky that Alex had returned he couldn't say whether Robin would ever have the good fortune to be reunited with Kim. It seemed unlikely.

Almost on cue, just as he was thinking about his difficult situation, Gene sported Robin working his way through CID towards his office. He knocked on the door and Gene called him in.

"Sorry," Robin began, "I just needed to confirm the time you needed the dogs down at the docks."

"Ship's getting in at half five," said Gene, "we'll get in place by four."

"Sure," said Robin.

Gene hesitated.

"Was that it?"

"Well... well, yes."

"You could have lifted the bloody phone and called for that," said Gene.

"I tried, your phone was engaged," said Robin.

Gene glanced at the screen and saw his computer was still online.

"Looks like I've found a use for this internet _thing_," he said, "keeps unwanted phone calls away.

"Unwanted thanks a bunch," Robin scowled. He sighed. "The heady days of dial-up," he said.

"Dial what?" frowned Gene, "You been ringing adult chat lines?"

Robin closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Doesn't matter," he said. Even if he'd tried to explain it, Gene was busy opening another email from Alex and whatever the contents Gene seemed to need to read it _very_ thoroughly. Robin walked back to the door. "See you later then." He turned and left, closing the door behind him. He waved politely to Marci and Jake as he walked through the office and avoided Bammo who was hoarding water balloons for some purpose Robin was sure he didn't want to know. Just as he was about to leave the department he realised he hadn't asked Gene how many uniformed officers he needed with the dog unit for the operation. "_Bollocks_," he sighed and took a step back towards the office but quite suddenly froze in his tracks as something caught his eye and stole his breath away. The wording on Gene's door has spontaneously been replaced.

_DCI Kim Stringer_, it said.

"I don't..." Robin began to whisper, not even knowing how to end that sentence. He swallowed and stared, blinking just once, and then the words were gone. Oh god, _now_ what? Was he hallucinating? He hadn't been sleeping well, that was true. Too many nightmares. But even so, he was _so_ sure he'd seen it –

There was no sign of her name now. Gene's office was correctly labelled once more, with Robin's trembling hands the only confirmation that those words had ever been there.

"_Shit,"_ he breathed, unable to comprehend what had just happened. His question for Gene was swiftly forgotten… All he could think about was getting out of there, ASAP, before he had the chance to start thnking too much about what he'd seen.

~xXx~

She hung the 2012 calendar on the wall, placed the photograph on her desk and turned with a cold stare to the door where she saw the backwards letters of her name emblazoned across the glass. It was her big day. She should have had people congratulating her and celebrating with her. There should have been pride in her heart as she made her way up the ladder. But for the way she felt, they might as well have stuck a robot in her chair.

Her eyes flickered to the photo on her desk, but only for a moment. Stare too long and she'd end up in pieces. Instead she turned the photograph downwards so that she wouldn't have to see it again just yet and turned down the temperature in her heart a little further. The colder her heart, the more the ice numbed the pain.

He shell was growing tougher and harder. No one was getting inside of it.

There was barely anything left of Kim Stringer.

Just a hard woman in clunky boots who couldn't stand to feel any more and the nightmares that plagued her the night before.

~xXx~

"_DCI Drake, it appears that you have continued to issue me with pornographic material,"_ Gene typed, taking about four minutes to find the 'Y' button,_ "proper penalties will be issued after I've had time to fully examine the photographs."_

He sent the email and stood up, fairly reluctantly. He'd had a pretty interesting day, learning the benefits of the World Wide Web. Unfortunately it was just about time to get back to the real world and do some work. He looked at the clock and grabbed his coat. He had to get things moving and head to the docks before the immigrant smugglers sent their latest shipment halfway up the country in an unmarked lorry and allowed them to disappear into the ether.

~xXx~

The doctor couldn't believe his eyes. They had to be deceiving him. There was no _way_, no way on _earth_ that room could be empty so he checked again but saw the same thing; an empty room, devoid of its patient. His damn eyes, they _had_ to be playing up.

He rubbed them. He looked again. He gulped. Then he raised the alarm.

"_What's happened?"_ he heard a voice shout above the din.

_"What's the matter?"_

"_What's going on?"_

The doctor swallowed hard.

"_He's gone,"_ he said.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Told you there'd be a nice normal chapter today! Just a quick recap of where things are before things start to get serious in the next chapter. I also posted the start the 'interlude' fic about Robin's 6 weeks back in the real world. However, forgive any worse than usual typing bloody conjunctivitis, everything's blurred and I'm about as good with eye drops as Rachel from Friends :P**_

_**ETA: Something odd's going on, FFnet is taking out certain symbols and punctuation so as I just read through this chapter after uploading it several sentences looked unfinished or some bits made no sense. I have no idea if it's tkaing them out of previously posted chapters too or just ones that are newly uploaded (it has removed ampersands, some dashes and even a couple of speech marks!) but please forgive anything that makes no sense that I've missed/**_


	3. Chapter 2: Bad Fashion and Crocodiles

**Chapter 2**

"Why do you keep dragging me along on these things?" Simon folded his arms as Gene hogged both the binoculars and the scotch, "It's not even my department. There's no technology involved."

Gene swigged from his flask and watched the boat appear in the distance.

"Because I need someone who doesn't look like they're about to go to a bloody Smash Hits photo shoot," he said.

Simon turned to Gene and frowned.

"Are you saying I'm unfashionable?" he demanded.

Gene hesitated.

"I'm saying you have a healthy respect for proper work attire," he said.

Simon narrowed his eyes.

"You are, aren't you?" he accused, "you're saying I'm unfashionable!"

Gene sighed.

"Don't know where you've got that idea from," he said, "Noel Edmonds."

"I'm not even _wearing_ the bloody jumper!" cried Simon.

"It's so deeply imbedded in me memory it's all I see now when I look at you," Gene commented. He ignored Simon's scowl and nodded towards the boat. "Looks like our ship's coming in, Shoebury." He picked up the radio and prepared to speak to his team. "Calling the _Radio One Roadshow_, come in," he said.

There was a crackle and then Jake's voice came over the speaker.

_"Reading you loud and clear, Guv,"_ he said.

"Sighted their dinghy of doom," Gene said, "ETA five minutes. Get ready to take a fast stroll in their direction."

"_Ready and waiting."_

Gene put down the radio and leaned back, awaiting the shipment. He noticed Simon examining his own shirt out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you think I need to be more… fashionable?" Simon asked.

"You _are_ fashionable," said Gene, "if you're attending a Noel Edmonds convention."

"I'm _serious,"_ Simon said a little crossly. He paused. "Do you think Robin might be interested again if I dressed more like them?" he nodded his head in the direction of Jake and Marci's car. Gene raised an eyebrow and gave him a wary glance.

"No, I think Batman might be interested again if you had a vast amount of plastic surgery, tattooed yourself from head to toe and changed yer name to Kim. "

"That's not very supportive," frowned Simon.

"Neither's yer belt," Gene told him. He shook his head as Simon looked down at his belt with a frown. "You've not quite got the right… _physique_ for all this poncey, weedy boy band bollocks."

Simon scowled at him.

"What are you saying to me, Gene?" he demanded.

"Well let's face it, Shoebury, you're not exactly the beanpole you were when you first arrived, are you?"

"What the hell _is_ this?" Simon demanded, "_Pick on Shoebury day?"_

"_You_ asked," Gene told him.

"Not to be insulted!" cried Simon, poking despondently at his waistline, "Anyway, you're a fine one to talk," he folded his arms haughtily and turned his head away while Gene turned his attention to his own body.

"I'll have you know I'm a fair bit lighter on me feet than I used to be," he said.

"_Yeah yeah,"_ Simon mumbled.

"You want to know the secret?

"Not particularly," Simon pulled a face, "but I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway."

"It's all down to bedroom Olympics."

"_I knew it!"_ Simon began before Gene had even finished his sentence, "I _knew_ it was going to end up going to that subject! Christ, that's as inappropriate as you can _get!"_

"How?" frowned Gene who thought he'd earned bragging rights.

"Well let's see, shall we?" Simon began to count the reasons off on his hand, "there's the fact that the only living creatures who ever share my bedroom are a pair of guinea pigs, the fact that we're supposed to be on a case and staying focused… oh yeah, and the fact that one of your _previous_ rounds of bedroom Olympics resulted in _me!"_ he put his hands over his ears, _"I don't want to know any more!"_

Gene rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Only trying to offer some health and fitness advice," he said.

"Well _don't!"_ cried Simon. He shook his head violently to dispel the mental image that he had of Gene standing on a podium, taking the gold medal for his Olympic routine. "Next time you drag me on a bloody stakeout pair me up with Jake."

"And leave me with Little Miss Nicey-Nicey?" scoffed Gene, "She who thinks ninety per cent of crimes can be solved by putting the kettle on?"

"As opposed to you who thinks filing cabinets solve ninety percent of all _staffing_ problems?

"Ninety-nine percent, Shoebury," Gene corrected, "ninety _nine." He_ stared out to the river where the ship was drawing closer. "Looks like it's _game on,_ Shoebury," he said, lifting up the radio again, "_standby, we've got a boat about to park its backside right in front of us."_

They watched and waited. They observed from afar. They clocked the truck driver backing up to take the container from the boat that had finally arrived before them. Money changed hands, 'goods' were checked and finally things began to move. With one word Gene commanded the move forward and the gathered team fought to seize the container.

It looked a little like ants descending on a strawberry fallen from someone's punnet at Wimbledon as myriad detectives and officers flooded onto the scene. There were shots fired that took out the truck tyres before the driver could attempt an audacious getaway bid and uniform swarmed around the container while CID seized as many of the traffickers as possible. The truck driver was unfortunate enough to find himself at the hands of Gene whose eyes had already lit up at the sight of the container, viewing it as one really, really, _really_ big filing cabinet and using it accordingly.

"The only long-distance you'll have to worry about for a while is getting a new prescription for yer glasses," Gene told him as he thumped the man's face against the container and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Somewhere nearby, two officers forced open the back of the container and Robin led the charge of dogs and coppers inside. Wild barking sounded as the scent of people caught their attention, while Simon found himself distracted by the contents of the boxes used as a cover to hide the individuals.

"Oh my god" he cried, opening one up and lifting up a heavy red object, "wooden _crocodiles!"_ he looked around. "Aren't they the coolest thing?"

Many, _many_ faces stared at him as though he's gone crazy.

"Why are they red?" was the first thing that Robin blurted.

"They're red crocodiles," Simon said as though that answered everything.

"But crocodiles are _green_," Robin argued.

His comment seemed not to phase Simon.

"_These_ ones aren't," he said simply.

"When you've quite finished examining the sunburnt crocs," Gene began crossly, "you might want to do something useful? Like sticking yer head in the river. Or, I don't know, how about helping plod get some of those wanderers into the van?"

Simon looked a little ashamed by his crocodile enthusiasm.

Right," he said quietly, "sorry."

"At least I know what to get you for Christmas," Robin commented as he began to help herd the individuals from the lorry.

Gene gave a yelp and an angry growl as the driver gave his shin a hard kick.

"You must have enjoyed getting acquainted with the container so much you want another go," he said, pushing him back against the metal one last time for good measure before dragging him away and handing him over to a couple of uniformed officers who bundled him into a car.

"Mind your head," one of them told him.

"What's the point when _that_ guy's already slammed my brain to bits?" the driver commented bitterly.

"That would imply that you had one," Gene pointed out. He turned to an officer. "Get him back to the cells before I feel the need to change his brains from _diced_ to liquidised."

The chaos was starting to clear. The anarchy was starting to get organised. And, if Gene could just ignore Simon sitting in the back of the truck, operating the wooden crocodile's head and muttering '_snapsnapsnapsnap'_, then he could more or less call the operation a 100% success.

~xXx~

It couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

They had to be seeing things. It _had_ to be a hallucination. There was no way he could simply stroll back in and –

"Alright, men and women of Fenchurch West," there was that smirk, back on his face. He stared around the office, casting his eyes over all those who had been a part of his team for a long time now, trapped like lame animals. Never going anywhere in life. Never escaping. There was, of course one, exception he realised as his eyes caught sight of the empty desk which still bore the name _'DI Stone'._

That set his blood boiling again and he grimaced as he struggled to keep control. It was a very, very fine line for him at that moment. He finally had the power and the energy under his control but he found tell that anything could set the fine balance over the edge. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He _had_ to cool down. It wasn't time to stress about defecting DIs. It was time to move onward and upward.

"Sir?" on plucky DC began, raising his hand, "I-I thought… well, we all heard… you were…" he coughed, "_unwell."_

Keats turned his glare to the man. He tried to keep his expression neutral.

"I'm fighting fit," he said, "ready to get this department back to the absolute peak of its potential. And to do that I need to make sure I can rely upon you to give me one hundred percent loyalty and one hundred percent dedication." He stared at the office. "As I am sure you are aware we have recently experienced the opening of a vacancy for a new detective inspector," he saw his team looking worried at the mention of Victoria. "Getting a reliable DI is no easy feat," he continued, "I'm going to be looking at your potential for promotion, every last one of you, because one of you is going to have the honour of becoming my second in command."

Myriad faces exchanged concerned glances. That wasn't a promotion anyone wanted to earn.

"Well, don't all volunteer at once," Keats said angrily, "this is your chance, your opportunity to get a foot on the ladder. Who's got the drive to take the role?"

It reminded Keats a little like the scene in _The Young Ones _where Rik asked _'hands up who likes me?'_ He practically saw his team lower their arms so that they couldn't be mistaken for volunteering, and one or two of them actually sat on their hands. He scowled and marched towards his office.

"I'll be informing you of interview times tomorrow," he said crossly and slammed his office door behind him.

He leaned against it, panting hard. Once again that energy threatened to get the better of him and he had to work hard to cool the flame of anger that burned inside of him. Perhaps he'd left a little too early. Perhaps he'd broken free before he was truly ready. But as soon as he'd felt ready to, he just wanted to get back out there. He needed to test out that extra power now. He needed to see how far he could push it and what were his limits.

He stared at his hands. They were shaking which disturbed him a little. He swallowed and closed his eyes as he panted against the door. He was still getting there but the power was more under his control with every passing moment.

He couldn't wait to give it a test run.

~xXx~

"That's the last of them," Simon told Gene as Marci led away the last remaining immigrant and took her to the police van, "although you'll be interested to know that the dogs also found a small amount of an illegal substance on board."

"They did, did they?" Gene raised an eyebrow. "Looks like we got ourselves a two for the price o'one deal." he looked around, "nice work here. Sunburnt crocodiles all round."

"_Snap,"_ Simon commented, snapping the jaws of one of the bizarre items which Gene quickly bundled away from him.

"Jesus, Shoebury, what are you doing?" he cried, "I thought you were trying to _build_ yer fashionable status, not send it sinking beneath the ground."

"I just thought these things were _interesting!"_ Simon protested.

Gene folded his arms as he watched an officer taking away some bags of white powder.

"Well, the _hollow_ ones were," he said.

He turned around and began to walk slowly away, hoping to get an update from Robin about what exactly the dogs had found, but before he had a chance a panicking officer ran, flailing, in his direction; arms and legs flying all over the place as his tall, skinny limbs carried him in Gene's direction.

_"Sir,"_ he cried, a note of anxiety in his voice, "you have to come quickly. They found something."

"You can add specifics, you know. It's not a guessing game. Who found what?" Gene demanded.

The officer panted little.

"Sergeant found a woman's body," he managed to say, "round there, at the side of the docks."

He pointed Gene in the right direction. Gene took a look around. There were still officers all over the place but things were more or less calming down now. They wouldn't miss him for a few moments. He'd go and find the body, then radio it in and they'd all still be back home on time for him to deliver his punishment for photographic equipment misuse to Alex.

"Show me," he said.

He began to run after the officer who took him winding through beams, supports and walkways until they made their way down by the side of the dock, near to the water. Gene's eyes scanned the scene.

"What am I looking for exactly?" he asked, "got any limbs missing or any_-ooof-"_

His question went unfinished and unanswered.

The sharp pain around his head forced his eyes closed and rendered his body useless as his mind switched off and his bulk dropped to the ground, sending a cloud of dust up from the floor where he lay and a trickle of blood meandered down the side of his face.

He couldn't hear the water. He couldn't feel the cold breeze around him. He couldn't see the dust that sullied his suit.

All he saw was darkness.

Darkness –

And light.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: I had SO much fun writing this chapter – although I could have done without writing it while sitting up all night with a sick toddler :( After he finally went to sleep I couldn't so this was the result – the sleep deprivation is my excuse for the red wooden crocodiles!**_

_**Although I kind of want one :-/ They do actually sound fairly cool…**_


	4. Chapter 3: Crocless Care

_**A/N: To the anon 'Crocfan' who commented yesterday asking where he/she could buy red wooden crocodiles, Morgana has kindly left you some suggestions for where to look for them in the reviews! I, however, am not going to be producing them as a range of merchandise :p **_

_**But please do have this five-minute cartoon doodle of Simon with one of the crocodiles that I for some reason thought was a good idea yesterday instead:**_

_** i1111 (dot) photobucket (dot) com/albums/h472/xxmisty/simoncroc (dot) png**_

_**That's five minutes of my life I'll never get back. At this point I have no idea what I'm even doing with my life… Anyway, onwards –**_

_**~xXx~**_

_**Chapter 3**_

…_The pain that seared through his head and neck were the first thing he felt. He had to be honest, they were really making him not want to open his eyes. Where was he, anyway? He suspected he wasn't still in the last place he remembered being..._

…_Had he hit his head somewhere? Had he fallen? Had someone knocked him around the head with one of those wooden crocodiles in the vast metal shipping container? He was too fuzzy on that part. Couldn't remember at all…_

…_Opening his eyes wasn't easy. He wasn't even sure he wanted to see what just was around him. But eventually he had to know…_

…_Wires, white walls and beeping monitors..._

_This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all._

'_Bugger.'_

He closed his eyes again as his vision clouded and swirled and he felt himself drifting away again. Never before had he felt so thankful for sleep to descend.

**~x~**

"…_Showing signs that he's returning to a state of consciousness…"_

He heard the words. They scared him There was very little in the world that Gene Hunt was afraid of, the the obvious examples of Keats's Ridgeley collection, Simon's jumper and the December menu arriving in the canteen with all the sprouts that it entailed. But the words he heard scared him half to death. Exactly what had happened to him? How badly was he hurt? He felt fairly certain now that he'd been attacked at the docks; he didn't remember a trip or a fall and he memory of the moment of searing pain seemed to come from a source that originated behind him. He had a vague recollection of a noise… some sort of horrific crack. Oh _shit_, exactly what had they done to him?

'_Some bugger's cracked me ruddy skull,'_ Gene thought to himself as he shifted a little in the bed to stretch his stiff shoulder joints, '_bloody brilliant. Now me and Shoebury can have a Who's Got The Most Badly Damaged Head competition.'_

"He's moving –"

"He's waking up –"

"Page Doctor Bristow."

"I'm on it."

'_Shit. Why did I have to the shoulder-shuffle? Now I've given meself away.'_

He just wanted to have some time and some space to mentally figure out what happened, get over his shame about being _clonked_ around the head and work out how he was going to get out of the situation without anyone at the statin knowing enough to make humiliating drawings of the incident on the toilet walls , alongside those of Simon's trouser tent and Alex in the Easter bunny costume.

Alex –

"_Bol-Bolly?"_ he tried to say her name but his tongue felt too big and didn't seem to go in the right places to form the word. At least the tube was out of his throat. When had _that_ happened? With some reluctance he opened his eyes and started to scan the room. His head wouldn't move as fast as he wanted it to go. Fucking hell, his _neck_ –

"Good morning," a cheerful nurse said in a sing-songy voice as she shuffled her way across to him a little like a doll who wore a big puffy skirt to hide the fact that her legs didn't bend, "back with us, I see? Well done."

"What, do I get a flaming medal?" he mumbled, his vision hazy and the room spinning around him, "Christ, who's been slipping the scotch in me drip?" his words were slurred and awkward and his voice was raspy. That tube had really done a number on his throat.

"The doctor will be with you shortly," the nurse came into full view, smiling above him, "you've had us all worried. We weren't sure you were ever going to open those eyes."

"Alright, you can turn the bedside manner down a notch, love," he mumbled as he tried to sit up bit found his body was too weak to move that much, "_bollocks."_

"You'll have to be patient," the nurse gave him a slightly patronising smile, "you've been out for a little while."

"Did I miss dinnertime?" he murmured.

"You missed February and March."

Gene froze as he gave those words a chance to sink in. they seemed almost like nonsense to him. They didn't have meaning, they were too random and too bizarre.

"Where _am_I?" he slurred, his voice developing an edgy tone .

"Fenchurch General Hospital," the nurse told him, footsteps taking her attention away from him as she turned to a doctor entering the room. "Morning, Doctor Bristow."

Oh, so _this_ was Doctor Bristow? Gene eyed the man warily.

"When can I get me boots on and go home?" he hoped the doctor could make out what he was saying, his words were mangled as his mouth refused to properly form them and he wasn't even altogether sure when he was speaking out loud as opposed to just thinking the words in his head.

"Plenty of time for that," the doctor said, "you'll be here for as little while to get your strength back before we'll turn you loose, Mister Kelman."

That was so bizarre and so unexpected that Gene didn't even have the chance to be annoyed or confused by it and simply gave a correction instead.

"_Hunt,"_ he said bluntly, "could at least get me name right if you're going to shove that thermometer up my –_yeow!"_ his eyes watered as the doctor did exactly what he feared he was going to do. He seemed oblivious to the words Gene had just spoken too.

"You received a very serious head injury," he said sternly, "you will need to be carefully monitored for the first few days at the very least to make sure that your recovery is going well."

"They catch the idiot who did this?" Gene mumbled, trying to reach up to his bandaged head but he found that his hands wouldn't move more than an inch or two.

"I'm sure the police will speak to you about those details as soon as we can say you're strong enough," the doctor told him, extracting the thermometer much to Gene's relief.

"What'd they hit me with?" Gene gave a slight groan as the full, aching stiffness of his torso began to filter through, "tell me it didn't have teeth and the glorious ability to snap its red jaws?"

The doctor looked at him seriously.

"It was a bullet," he said with a sombre note in his voice.

"What are you blabbing about?" Gene demanded, trying again to sit up and finding it just as impossible as it was a moment before, "was down at the docks –"

"You remember the boat?" the doctor asked.

"With the bloody crocodiles; not an easy thing to forget."

The doctor stared at him.

"Crocodiles?" he repeated. He turned to the nurse and hissed, "see if you can hurry forward that psyche evaluation."

"Oi!" Gene scowled, "I'm talking about the _shipment_. The wooden croc-arses. Bloody great red things. _Realistic mouth action_, so says the box. _Badly made toys about to find themselves on Watchdog for lopping off some kid's ear_, more like."

The doctor shook his head slowly.

"You were shot on a boat," he said patiently, "you've been through a severe trauma – between the wound and the surgery it's going to take some time for your memory to return."

Gene narrowed his eyes, which were still blurry enough as it was. The doctor didn't know what he was talking about. There's been no gunshot, he hadn't heard a gun fire at all. He'd been hit around the head by a blunt object which may or may not have been one of Shoebury's favourite crocodiles

"Who found me? He asked, "how did I get here?"

"The police know better than we do," the doctor told him, checking the monitors, "so they will explain everything to you when they speak to you. But there's plenty of time for that; there are people who have been looking forward to this moment."

"Not me insurance company, that's for certain," Gene said crossly.

"We're calling your wife, "the doctor said, "she'll be here soon. She's going to be over the moon to see you awake again."

_Wife?_ Gene closed his eyes for a second and shook his head.

"Haven't had chance to tie the knot yet," he said in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" the doctor gave a slight laugh as though trying to work out if Gene was subjecting him to a joke, "I know it's April Fool's Day but I don't think she'll appreciate that after all she's been through, praying for your recovery."

Gene felt his stomach drop as the doctor's words struck him.

"April bloody _fool's_day?" he mumbled, "how long have I been stuck in the land o' darkness and disinfectant?"

"You've been unconscious for almost two months," the doctor told him.

Wait, no, that didn't make sense. How could he have been unconscious for almost two months when it was only the middle of March last time he looked? April Fool's Day… it could only have been two weeks. Three weeks maximum…

"You trying to pull yer bloody surgical gown over me eyes?" he mumbled.

The doctor looked at him in concern. He knew disorientation was normal after such a long time unconscious – hell, it was practically mandatory – but the patient seemed to be highly confused. He replaced his chart and slipped his pen back into his pocket.

"Do you know who you are?" he asked.

Gene stared at him, surprised to find it was a genuine question.

"Yes," he frowned, "but I get the feeling _you_ bloody well don't or you would be daring to ask me that question." He glared at the man. "You got any filing cabinets aroud here?"

"Do you know what year it is?" the doctor asked him.

"Nineteen ninety seven, year of the nausea-ridden boy-band and the _New Labour, New Nancy-Boy _campaign bollocks."

The doctor's expression crumped.

"Oh dear," he said quietly.

Gene's head moved faster than he thought he would be capable of moving.

"I see your '_Oh Dear'_ and raise you a '_tell me what the bloody hell you're talking about before I remove your stethoscope from around your neck, jam it where the sun doesn't shine and listen to the area you're talking out of right now'."_

The doctor looked him right in the eye.

"It's two thousand and twelve, Mister Kelman," he said seriously.

Gene swallowed. His guts were churning.

"I told you," he began stiffly, "Me name is Hunt. DCI Gene Hunt."

The doctor's expression became softer, more sympathetic.

"Your name is Michael Kelman," he said quietly, "You work as a parking inspector."

Gene almost threw up over the bed.

"A _traffic warden?"_ he cried, suddenly feeling very dirty indeed. He wanted to run for the nearest shower and scrub himself free of parking tickets.

"You are Michael Kelman," the doctor repeated, "you were inspecting vehicles parked around Trinity Buoy Wharf when you heard the tussle going on and tried to stop it."

"To stop _what_ exactly?" Gene felt himself beginning to shake. The doctor saw his hands trembling against the bed sheets. He started to worry even more about his patent and took a step back.

"I think you've had enough excitement for now," he said quietly, "you need rest, and plenty of it. Your wife will be here soon, and then when you're up to it the Police will speak to you about what you can remember and perhaps help to fill in some of the parts you can't." he nodded and gave Gene a sympathetic smile. "Try to sleep now. Mister Kelman. You've made it through the hard part. Just concentrate on getting stronger."

Gene's eyes followed the man as he walked out of the room. He found himself shaking his head as a horrible wave of nausea washed up through his chest into his throat. None of this made sense, not in the slightest. Not to him.

What kind of a joke was this? Had Alex put them up to it, or someone else maybe? Teach him a lesson about treating people in comas with respect? Giving him a taste of what it was like to awaken in a different time with no idea of…

He stopped thinking as his eyes focused upon a TV set on one side of the room. He hadn't noticed it before – too busy listening to the junk that the doctor was yacking in his direction. He saw it now though, and he watched the images and read the words on the screen;

"_Fuel strike leads to panic buying."_

"_2012 warmest March on record."_

And the headline that really sealed the deal; -

"_Budget reveals Cornish Pasty Tax."_

"What kind of bleeding insanity _is_ this?" he mumbled.

But it still didn't sink in, not really, not until he head the words of the newsreader as she concluded the bulletin;

"_And those were the headlines for the first of April, two thousand and twelve."_

A terror like he'd never felt before descended over Gene. Nothing made sense any more and everything was wrong, wrong, wrong –

He closed his eyes tightly and begged his mind to switch off and send him back to sleep, because frankly, if this was real in any way then he was totally, utterly and helplessly buggered.


	5. Chapter 4: Don't Drive That

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this story so far! I know that it's fairly out-there and confusing so far but I hope you'll stick with it as things start to become clearer and begin to make sense!**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 4**

_#...And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack_

_And you may find yourself in another part of the world_

_And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile_

_And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife_

_And you may ask yourself-Well...How did I get here?...#_

Gene would have traded a kidney for access to the remote control. He didn't care of the television was supposed to bring him stimulation after his apparent coma, it had been a tireless string of music he didn't want to listen to, poxy saccharine soap operas that almost induced diabetes and some quite frankly disturbing news stories about heated pastry products. He'd had as much as he could take.

He laid in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, just trying to figure out where things had gone so horribly wrong. It didn't matter how much he replayed his last few moments in his own world, not once could he work out how a gun had fitted into the equation. He knew he'd received a whack around the head. He'd received enough of those in the past to know the difference between one and a gunshot.

"_Shot in the head,"_ he mumbled. He knew someone else who'd been shot in the head. That choked him a little to think about.

So what exactly was going on? This couldn't be real. None of it could be real, but he had no other explanation for it. Where was Alex and her notebook when he needed them? Or even a flipchart? _Oh holy crap_, he was going to have to do more of that poncy list-writing malarkey, wasn't he? Christ, no. That was bad enough after he'd had the television message from Bolly. He certainly never thought he'd be in _this_ position.

"I don't live in two thousand and twelve," That was a fact that he was as sure of as anything that he'd ever known.

He tried to work through what else he knew as a fact. He knew that he was dead. There'd never been any doubt about that. He had no chance of waking up in the real world because he was DOA. If he had still been alive he'd have had messages before now, and there was no way he would have spent sixty years in a state of limbo.

So was this all just a dream? A horrible nightmare concocted through years of experience at seeing the reactions of others entering his world? It didn't feel like a dream. Besides, how would he know enough about the future to create it in his head? He didn't. It wasn't as though he'd ever sat Simon and Robin down with a pen and paper and demanded an essay entitled_ "Things I Loved About The Future," _or _"How I Spent My Time in 2012"._

He remembered Alex once talking about her time in what she'd described as a 'coma within a coma'. Was he in a coma in 1997? Was he going through the same kind of worrying entry that others had into his world, except that he'd gone the other way?

None of it made sense, _none_ of it. He was glad he didn't have a notebook after all because if he had he'd have surely thrown it at the wall by now

_#...Letting the days go by_

_let the water hold me down_

_Letting the days go by_

_water flowing underground_

_Into the blue again_

_after the money's gone_

_Once in a lifetime_

_water flowing underground…#_

"Michael, guess who's here to see you?"

He nurse looked so happy and genuine as she walked into the room that it almost pained Gene to cut her down with a sarcastic dig. _Almost_, but not quite.

"Reg Varney from _On The Buses_," he guessed.

The nurse seemed oblivious.

"Your wife has been dying to see you," she said and stepped back to allow a rather busty woman past. Gene's expression changed immediately to one of shock, deep-seated disappointment and devastation. There had been the vaguest of hopes in his mind that somehow – despite all evidence to the contrary – Alex Drake was going to walk through that door. His vague hope disappeared down the toilet immediately.

"Oh Michael," her overpowering flowery perfume worked its way right up inside his nostrils and made his eyes water as she threw her arms around his neck and left lipstick marks of a rather unpleasant shade cross his cheek, "I thought you were _dead._ I never thought you could make it –"

As she drew back Gene got a good look at her for the first time. He supposed the phrase 'homely' described her well enough. Her wavy brown hair was bunched back into a ponytail behind her and her brown skirt hung loosely over her more than ample backside. Her chest looked as though someone had tied a piece of string around the middle of a pillow and shoved it up her jumper. She looked a little like she belonged in an old-fashioned tavern, carrying trays of foaming beer and getting her backside slapped by randy locals. She was reminiscent in some ways of his ex-wife. Back when his job was his number one and his relationship came second all he'd really wanted was a descent pair of chest-pillows to cuddle up at night. But it was a very different woman who had his heart now and she was nowhere to be found.

"Well?" the woman was starting to look a little flustered, "are you pleased to see me?"

_Might be more pleased if I knew who you were,_ he thought to himself but he nodded the best his body would allow and said,

"Deliriously."

"I'll leave you two to have some privacy" the nurse smiled and left them alone together, which quite frankly scared Gene more than anything. _Shit,_ how did the _others_ cope? How did all those people who woke in his world, knowing they belonged elsewhere, cope with the bluffing and with trying to work out where they were? He wished he'd paid more attention to their tactics now. He could really do with them right then.

"What on earth did you think you were _doing_, going onto that boat?" the woman demanded when they were alone, "putting your life in danger? I almost lost you! You were very nearly killed!"

"But apparently I'm still here," Gene said with a sigh.

"Leave the policing to the experts," the woman told him.

"Oh no, six decades on the job, that doesn't make me a ruddy expert any more apparently," Gene mumbled.

The woman looked at him worriedly. His reactions were not what she had been expecting. This wasn't the man she knew as her husband.

"Michael?" she said quietly.

Gene gritted his teeth. That name was grating on him. He knew his name and it was _not_ Michael Kelman.

"What?" he hissed.

"I know that they said it will take a few days for you to adjust," she said nervously, "but you don't seem yourself."

"Funny," Gene folded his arms loosely, "I don't really feel meself either."

The woman tried to put her worries aside. They only seemed to be making him worse. She gave him a wobbly smile and pulled out a card.

"Look," she said, "your work friends got you this. They've all been praying you'd make a fast recovery."

Gene slowly took the card, his limbs still weak and shaky. On the front was a picture of a traffic warden's hat with a bunch of flowers sprouting out of it.

"_Get Well Soon,"_ it said, then on the inside it added, "_We hope you'll soon be feeling just the ticket!"_

Gene almost threw up, right there and then. _Oh god,_ the truth hit him like a high-speed train, _I'm a traffic warden. I'm an arse-licking, brown-nosing, pond scum, curb crawling traffic warden!_

"Isn't it funny?" the woman seemed genuinely amused by the joke, "they must have got it from Moonpig or something."

_Moon pig?_ OK, now he knew this wasn't reality. First of all they were taxing Cornish pasties, then they were sending pigs into outer _space?_ As far as Gene was concerned that should only happen in the Muppets.

He read the inside of the card properly this time;

"_Dear Mickey, all thinking of you. Stay strong, get better soon. We'll look after Janey for you. From all the lads and lasses in the Fenchurch Traffic Department"_

Gene looked back at the woman. He cleared his throat.

"Janey?" he tried experimentally.

"Yes, dear?" she leaned a little closer.

Gene took a deep breath. Well, that was progress. He had a name for the woman now. He didn't know where to go from there though. Not when he knew there was a woman wearing a ring with which he'd made a promise, some fifteen years in the past.

To a point, he realised, it didn't matter how he'd got to where he was. It didn't matter how real or unreal the situation was. It didn't matter if it was a nightmare, a parallel universe, some kind of impossible time travel scenario or a reverse coma-in-a-coma deal – the fact remained the same: he had to get home.

Oh shit. _Shit, shit, shit._ How many times had others been in this position? How many times had he thrown them against filing cabinets for saying these same things? It was all coming back to haunt him now, it was coming back to bite him squarely on the arse, like one of those wooden crocodiles gone crazy. Was this a punishment of some kind? Was this meant to teach him a lesson?

"What is it, Michael?"

He realised he still hadn't spoken after he'd said the name of his apparent wife. He looked back at her, cleared his throat and tried to stay as casual as possible, which really wasn't easy when a picture of a traffic warden's hat with flowers sticking out of it was still staring at him.

"I, um," he cleared his throat, "It's good to see you. But I'm tired." He considered adding a fake yawn but thought he'd probably spoil his argument if he did so. "I'm not feeling meself. I need to get some sleep."

"That's Ok, you sleep, Janey smiled, "I'll be right here when you wake up"

_Bugger. Bugger it all to hell,_ this wasn't the way the conversation was supposed to go.

"I meant, go _home!"_ he cried before reeling the comment back in with a sigh, "go home and get some rest too. You look tired."

"I've barely slept," Janey told him, taking his hand. He saw a wedding band on his finger which pained him. Once again something had come up to keep him apart from Alex and he still hadn't swept her down the aisle yet. So much for not needing to rush and having all the time in the world. He swallowed and tried to continue.

"You go home," he said again, "get some proper sleep in bed, not in that backside-breaking chair."

"Oh, that's OK," said Janey.

"Really."

"I'd rather stay a while," said Janey, "besides, I don't want to fork out for another taxi and I couldn't drive here because my car's in for repairs and I'm not on the insurance for your Mini Metro."

"Well you –" Gene froze as the world seemed to stop turning. Nausea filled his guts and he had to gulp back tears of distress. "My _what?"_

"Your Mini Metro," she repeated.

"You wash your mouth out with soap and water, woman!" Gene cried in alarm.

"_Michael!"_

"Gene Hunt does _not_ drive a cocking Mini _Metro!"_

"Who's Gene Hunt?"

His cool act had gone. He couldn't rein in his words any longer. He wasn't the best at this, after all. He was used to being on the other side of the situation and being the one in a strange place was a whole world harder than he'd have ever expected.

"_I_ am!" he growled, "and I do _not_ drive anything that looks like it's been sat on by a large herd of elephants who have gotten lost on their way to the circus and decided to check me A to Z to help them on their way!" he was shaking now. The thought of the Mini Metro had pushed him over the edge. "What's happened to me Aston Martin?"

Janey was torn between laughing and worrying,

"Michael, I don't think you could afford a car like that," she said hesitantly, "not on your wage. Not with your job."

"My name isn't Michael and I'm not a flaming snake-faced traffic warden!" cried Gene, "My name is Gene Hunt, I am a Detective Chief Inspector heading up CID at Fenchurch East police station and I do NOT, I repeat, _not_, never have and never will allow the keys of a poxy Mini metro to find their way into me pocket!" His eyes were blazing and his skin flushed as he panted with anger. Janey got to her feet and began to back towards the door.

"M-maybe you were right," she said quietly, "you need some sleep. I-I'll come back tomorrow."

With anxious eyes she kissed his cheek, smearing more lipstick on his cheek and retreated from the room in search of the nearest doctor while Gene slapped his forehead and cursed himself to high heaven. He'd done more than put his foot in it. He'd put both feet, both hands and half his ribcage in as well.

"Bugger," he muttered as he closed his eyes in embarrassment.

_#...And you may ask yourself_

_How do I work this?_

_And you may ask yourself_

_Where is that large automobile?_

_And you may tell yourself_

_This is not my beautiful house!_

_And you may tell yourself_

_This is not my beautiful wife!...#_

He'd lost it. He had tried hard but he couldn't keep those thoughts under wraps and now his apparent wife thought he was going crazy. In fact, as he fell silent he could hear her voice outside talking to a doctor –

"…_Chance of brain damage…"_

"…_Amnesia…"_

"…_Mental evaluation…"_

"_Shit,"_ he cursed, those were all terms he heard coming from the corridor outside. If he wasn't careful then Janey was going to do an Evan and try to have him sectioned, he was just certain of that.

What would _Alex_ do? What _did_ Alex do? He tried to think back to the time her soul split in two and she had to survive in the real world with no memory of who she was back there. As far as he recalled the procedure involved a lot of bluffing, running away from Evan and fainting through the doorway of Robin's flat. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of the last two parts but he could go for the first.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, "just for once, Gene Hunt is temporarily on hold. Michael Kelman, this is yer lucky day."

He knew it wasn't going to be easy but he also knew that he would never find out what was happening if they locked him away and reached for the rubber wallpaper. So this was the first step, then once he was out of that hospital smock and back in the outside world he would find out what was going on and how to get back to Alex. Not to mention buy all the Cornish pasties that he could find before the goddamn tax came into place.

"Mister Kelman?"

Gene looked up. There was a figure looming in the doorway; a large man with an equally large, ginger beard.

"No," Gene swallowed.

"_Michael_ Kelman?"

Gene reeled back as he took in the tattoos, the dirty vest, the decaying muscles and the large, wobbling beer belly.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," he said.

The man was deadly serious,.

"My name's Geoff, he said, "it's time for your bed bath."

"Not unless you want the surgeons to be removing lumps of loofah for the rest of the night," Gene declared.

Geoff ignored him and simply pulled out his best and biggest loofah.

"I hope you like thrash metal," he said as he changed the channel on the TV.

Gene did not like thrash metal. He didn't like life very much either. And after his first experience of a Geoff-administered bed-bath he certainly never wanted to see another loofah, _ever_ again.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: I know I usually like to use songs from the year the story is set in but Once In A Lifetime is one of my favourite songs (and I used to have this spooky thing going on where I'd always hear it on the radio just before a major life change came my way) and yesterday when I was writing the lyrics just seemed to fit perfectly, poor Gene :D**_


	6. Chapter 5: Escape Plans

**Chapter 5**

Gene stared at the clock on the wall and watched the second hand travelling all the way around its face. The wheelchair wasn't the most comfortable place he'd ever parked his posterior, that was for certain. It had to have been at least twenty years old and used by somewhere in the region of half the population of Fenchurch during its time.

"Mister Kelman, I'm here to _help_ you, not for any other reason."

Gene vaguely turned his head back towards he psychologist and tried to refrain from pulling a face at him. Things weren't exactly going his way. After his apparent wife had spoken to the doctors their concern for his mental state increased and he quickly found himself being subjected to all kinds of questions. The questions were more than he could take and he'd done a lot of 'falling asleep' to combat the questions he couldn't answer without the rest of the world describing him as crazy. He'd even made a valiant attempt at escaping that night but his legs wouldn't work yet so he'd only escaped onto the old, hard hospital floor which – in his hospital gown – didn't prove a very comfortable or dignified experience.

Which was how come, at lunchtime the following day, he found himself sitting in an uncomfortable, hard, lumpy wheelchair, staring at the clock in the resident psychologist's office.

"Can you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up?"

Gene felt his heart sinking. No, he couldn't. He couldn't because the last thing he remembered was being hit around the head in 1997, not being shot in 2012.

"Me head's still a bit of a blur," he said awkwardly. His hand reached up to the bandage that covered his wound. Was there really a bullet hole under there? Did he and Alex suddenly have matching scars?

Did Alex exist?

That question turned his stomach and he hated himself for even thinking it, but just for a split second it passed through his mind. All those people who'd been in limbo had wondered the same of _him_ and most assumed he was a figment of their imagination. Was his world real? Was _this_ world real? Was he in the future or inside his own head? Christ, no wonder he had a station full of fruit-loops.

"And how about you?" the psychologist continued, "how much do you remember about yourself?"

"I remember a tendency towards being violent to psychiatrists," Gene told him, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm a psychologist," the man corrected him.

"Well at least one of us remembers who we are," Gene commented crossly, "lucky you."

The psychologist took off his glasses and leaned towards him,.

"Believe it or not I'm not your enemy," he said, "I want to make sure that you're recovering, mentally and emotionally, as well as you are physically, but the only way I can do that is by asking you questions and listening to what you say. He paused. "Do you know your name?"

Gene looked at his hospital identity band.

"Michael Kelman," he read.

"Are you sure that's who _you_ think you are?"

"That what it says here."

"But who do _you_ think you are?"

Gene was already tired of this.

"It's difficult to disagree when I've been labelled," he said.

The psychologist looked at Gene.

"Yesterday your wife spoke to one of your doctors," he said seriously, "she was worried about you. You had called yourself by another name."

Gene stared him in the eye.

"You know what it's like when you wake up from a long snooze, doc," he said bluntly, "takes a while for the old brain to kick back into place."

"She says you called yourself Gene Hunt," the psychologist reminded him, "she also said you claimed to be a police officer." He waited for Gene to respond but no reply came his way. He paused and looked down. "Mister Kelman, she was concerned because she recognised the name."

Gene froze and his heart gave an extra hard thump. He swallowed and ran his tongue around his lips, trying to hide his nervousness.

"She did, did she?" he asked.

The psychologist nodded.

And you called yourself by the same name to one of your doctors earlier that day, too," he reminded him, "_he_ recognised it too."

Gene stared on. He didn't dare wonder where or how. He had a feeling he was about to find out though.

"Like I said, doc," he raised an eyebrow, "that's what I get for oversleeping."

The psychologist took a newspaper from behind his desk and flipped a few pages until he came to a double page spread somewhere inside. He placed the open paper on the desk and pushed it around for Gene to see.

"Can you read this alright?" he asked.

"Course I bloody can, I wasn't shot in me eye," Gene mumbled as he craned his neck forward to stare at the paper before him. The words on the page sent his stomach churning.

"_Help This Copper Claim His Name."_

Below the headline was a photograph of Farringfield Green from 1998 showing the forensic work that took place as his body was removed from its shallow grave. He gulped down the bile that was trying to rise in his throat before he could throw up his hospital breakfast all over the man's office.

"Jesus Christ with knobs on," he muttered as he found his eyes scanning the story and certain words stood out to him.

'…_Body found by travellers four years ago…'_

'…_remains were cremated and the ashes scattered in a memorial garden in Manchester…'_

'…_Jewellery chain owner Hayley Ford believes the unknown PC to be her distant relation PC Gene Hunt who disappeared during his first week on the beat…"_

'…_body was never found…'_

'…_a campaign to confirm his identity…'_

Gene pushed the paper back across the desk, as far away from himself as he could.

"Got to be more than one Gene Hunt in the world," he mumbled before remembering the whole point of the exercise was to pretend he believed himself to be Michael Kelman. "Not that I'm one of them."

"You seemed to believe you were yesterday," the psychologist reminded him.

"You think I'm a dead man?"

"No, I don't," the psychologist said quietly. He began to press a few buttons on his laptop which annoyed Gene tremendously. "I think that you are having some trouble adjusting. You're still feeling traumatised and isolated by the experience you've been through, which is perfectly natural. You may also have a degree of memory loss. And I believe that, to cope, you have taken on the identity of the fallen PC to escape your own identity."

"Because people in comas just _love_ to read newspapers?" Gene folded his arms.

The psychologist sighed. He turned his laptop around for Gene to see.

"While you were unconscious your doctors observed that you responded very well to sounds and verbal stimuli," he began, "the television and radio were used for several hours each day to keep your level of stimulation up while they assessed whether you would be able to regain consciousness. Last Monday night a documentary about the young officer who lost his life was shown on Channel Four."

To Gene's shock and confusion a television programme began to play on the laptop. What the hell was _that?_ Some kind of scary TV/Computer hybrid? He'd only just mastered checking his emails, he didn't want to have to battle with his damn computer to watch the latest edition of _Lattes From Hell_ too.

"Got a perfectly good TV in me room, doc," he said, "if you've finished with me then maybe I can go and watch it."

On the screen the_ Dispatches_ logo played, followed by the caption _'Farringfield Green: Where Did It All Go Wrong?'_

As he watched, an annoying woman appeared, strolling through the open expanse of Farringfield Green; preparations being made in the background for the development of the area that was about to take place.

"_Once this area was home to a beautiful farmhouse with a weathervane placed proudly on the roof and a scarecrow that stood guard over the field. For many years this idyllic piece of land stood untouched –" _she stopped walking, looked right into the camera and gave a dramatic pause,_ "- until, one morning in two thousand and eight, a group of travellers came across a shallow grave on the site. The grave belonged to a young police officer and that man's identity was never found…"_

"The programme went into detail about Hayley Ford's campaign," the psychologist told him, "it spoke at length about Gene Hunt and his young life. It's…" he hesitated, "it's not unusual for an outside stimulus such as something on the television or radio to filter through to your subconscious. For example, when we sleep, perhaps the song playing on your alarm clock will play in your dream for a few moments before you wake up, or if you fall asleep watching your favourite film you may dream pieces of the dialogue or characters from the movie may appear in your dream."

"I've not been having long, lucid dreams about shallow graves on farmland," Gene said quietly, feeling nauseous and shaken. The sight of his place of death on the screen disturbed him more deeply than he could say. He tried to keep that under wraps.

"I'm suggesting," the psychologist began, "that while in a state of unconsciousness your mind absorbed the information shown on this television programme and you assumed the identity of the fallen PC because you were having trouble recalling your own." He looked at Gene sympathetically, "Perhaps you felt an affinity with the young PC because his own story isn't all that different to yours?"

Gene swallowed and tried to keep his jawline firm.

"In what way, _doctor?"_ he asked stiffly.

"A man who discovers something isn't right," the doctor began, "tries to investigate what's going on, to '_uphold the law'_ as it were, disturbing a crime in progress, receiving a gunshot…" he leaned across the desk a little and looked Gene in the eye. "You have been through a massive trauma, physically and emotionally. Memory loss is perfectly natural after an injury such as yours. But I'm here to make sure that you are able to begin recuperatring as soon as possible and recover your memory, Michael. It will take some hard work but we'll get you back on track."

Gene stared back. He didn't know what he could say. The psychologist had already made up his mind about him. He breathed in deeply and let his breath back out as a quiet sigh that he couldn't hold back. The programme was still playing away in the background but he tuned it out of his mind. That was the last thing he wanted to focus on. He hung his head a little and decided that this was a battle he wasn't going to win, so he'd have to find another tactic.

Bluff it. What was it Alex had done? Oh yeah – he needed to be _'on his best behaviour'_. All he needed to do was to keep his own name out of the equation for a little while and the men in white coats would have to stay away. His legs weren't working yet but the moment they started to follow his instructions he was going to be out of that hospital faster than Geoff can dampen a loofah and he needed to make sure that he would be free to do so without any labels on the state of his memory.

"What needs to get back on track," he said stiffly, "is me stomach. I heard the meal trolley go by. Don't want to miss out on me layered cardboard and poo pudding, do I?"

The psychologist looked at Gene a little sadly. He could see he had his work cut out with this man. He didn't know to what degree his memory had been affected by the injury and the coma yet but he was going to be a difficult one to get through to, he was certain of that.

"I'll get the nurse to take you back to your hospital room," he said simply. He had a feeling that was as much as the man would take for one day without doing something rash. He seemed to have spent much of the session staring longingly at his filing cabinets too which, quite frankly, scared him half to death.

~x~

Gene hung his head as he allowed himself to be wheeled along, this was a perpetual nightmare. Now not only did he have to cope with being someone else and knowing that all he had for him out there was a Mini Metro but he had to convince some psychologist that he wasn't crazy too. _Great_.

"This is the gift that just keeps on giving," he mumbled to himself.

He would get there though. _He_ knew who he was and it wasn't Michael Kelman. All he had to do was to keep the Gene Genie under wraps for a few more days. Then, when he'd convinced them that he truly believed he was Traffic Warden of the Year all he'd have to do was to get his strength back and get out of there.

He didn't even want to think about that part. He wouldn't let himself acknowledge that the hard part was still to come. There was no one to turn to, no flipchart to fill and no plan to get home, just a world he had no concept of with computers that had been shagging television sets and making bastard offspring that showed shitty documentaries with annoying presenters - who Gene, quite frankly, thought even the filing cabinet would be too good for.

This was only the start, but he was ready. Whatever it took he was going to find a way out of the future and back home. Alex was waiting for him and he wasn't going to leave her hanging.

Especially not when he still had punishment for misuse of photographic equipment to deliver.

~xXx~

Alex stared at the clock and watched the second hand ticking round. Where was Gene? She was fairly sure he should have been back by now. The operation at the docks had been a success, she'd already heard that from uniform and seen the evidence in the cells. She's tried Gene's office, looked for him in both CID and custody and asked several of the officers who'd been at the raid but no one had seen him return.

Eventually she picked up the phone and called Simon. She wished that Gene would carry a mobile but as far as he was concerned any phone that was small enough to jam up someone's backside wasn't going anywhere near him. Besides, he was still arguing with his _answerphone_, no one thought he was ready to move onto mobile communication yet.

She bit her lip nervously as she waited for him to answer the call. She'd had a funny feeling all day. She'd ignored it for a long time, thinking she was just being paranoid, but as the day had gone by the feeling hadn't gone anywhere. She even told Gene to be careful before he set off to the docks. Now her paranoia had gone into overdrive and was giving her high blood pressure.

"Simon," she breathed with relief as her call was answered, "are you still down at the docks?"

"For another few minutes," he said, "we just need to finish up a few things so we can transport the rest of the contents of the container."

"And Gene's with you?"

There was a pause on the line; a pause that made Alex freeze with anxiety.

"Uh," Simon seemed hesitant, "I'm… I'm not sure" he said, "I thought he'd come back. I haven't seen him for a while."

Alex swallowed. Her nerves were increasing by the moment.

"Well if you see him," she said, "please tell him to get himself back here ASAP."

"No problem," Simon seemed oblivious to her nerves, "see you later."

Alex bit her lip as she put down the phone. Simon hadn't seen him. Uniform hadn't seen him. He wasn't back at the station and he wasn't responding to his radio.

"Where the hell _are_ you, Gene?" she mumbled.

Something wasn't right. Her guts were perfectly clear on that one.


	7. Chapter 6: Full Circle

**Chapter 6**

Gene awoke the next day with a new start on his mind. Being on his best behaviour didn't come naturally to Gene at the best of times but he was willing to make an effort just this once if it meant making sure that he wasn't going to be sent to the funny farm.

"And how are you feeling this morning, Mister Kelman?" his doctor asked, pen in hand and ready to make notes. Gene wanted to say he was feeling a little like shoving that pen up the Doc's rather large and hairy left nostril but he decided against it.

"Better, Doc," he said with a decisive fake nod, "much better. Clearer head. Hadn't been feeling quite meself."

"Good," the doctor said, "well we're hoping to begin your physical rehabilitation this morning so hopefully that will help you to feel a little more like your old self as well. Do understand that it's going to take some time "

"Wouldn't have expected anything less," Gene's false tone was bordering on saccharine but the doctor's clichéd approach to his bedside manner was asking for it.

"But with hard work and dedication you'll be back on your feet before long."

"Well that _is_ good to know."

Gene told himself off a little for that. He was bordering on out and out sarcasm and didn't want to give himself away just yet.

"Your breakfast and medication will be along shortly," the doctor told him, "try to eat as much as you can. You need to get your strength back."

"Oh, I'll be sure to do that, doc," Gene said with a large, false smile as he watched the doctor leaving before he added under his breath, "I'll be sure to do that the minute I find a way to un-cremate the vast quantities of cold toast you seem to think the sick and injured need to consume on a daily basis."

The doctor was right about one thing though. Even though he'd regained feeling and limited movement through his body now his strength had gone to pieces. He tried moving his legs a little and although they twitched and stretched a couple of inches they weren't going to hold his weight. Not that there was much left of that either, he had to be honest. How long had he been out again? A couple of months? Well, apparently the ultimate slim-down was to go into a coma, he thought to himself as he poked at what was left of his belly. His arms were looking a bit like scraggly tree branches. Where were the muscles he'd carefully honed through extended use of the filing cabinet technique? This wasn't boding well for making an escape from the hospital grounds.

He wasn't good at being patient or taking things slowly but he had no choice in this case. He was going to have to grin and bear it a little longer because another incident like the floor-fall from two days earlier and his pride would be fading away as fast as his gut.

~xXx~

"_Hey,"_ Simon called as he caught sight of Robin in the back of the container. Robin glanced up and saw Simon beckoning him over.

"What is it?" he called back. Simon merely beckoned him again so with a sigh and a roll of his eyes Robin jumped from the back of the container like a kid jumping from a swing and made his way over. "What's the matter, Simon?" he asked.

"Is Gene still in there?" Simon asked, pointing to where Robin had just come from.

Robin glanced around.

"The container?" he asked, "No, just one of the dogs." He looked a little annoyed, "And Shaz."

"When did you last see him?" Simon asked.

Robin frowned a little.

"Not for a while," he said, "I was busy with the container, I thought he'd gone back to the station with the traffickers."

"Yeah, so did I but Alex says he never went back," Simon found himself with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed worriedly.

"Well he can't be far," Robin frowned, "he won't have just… _wandered off."_

"Then where is he?" Simon frowned.

"If he's not back at the station then he'll be around here somewhere," Robin started to scan the area with his eyes, "Look, you take that side and call CID to check if he's back now. I'll take this side and I'll radio uniform, get them to check Custody."

"OK," Simon nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He shudder a little as he folded his arms and started to move towards an area where a few officers were gathered, hoping one of them had seen him lately. Somehow Alex's paranoia was contagious; now Simon was feeling anxious too. He couldn't explain it but a bad feeling came over him. It got into his veins and made him desperate to track down Gene and put that worry to rest.

But the more time passed and the fewer people who'd seen him, the greater the worry became. When neither CID nor Uniform had seen him, Simon knew for sure that there was something serious at play. He shook his head and swallowed as he headed back towards Robin. He hated to admit it but he was worried about Gene, _really_ worried.

"Alright," Robin began, as they walked towards one another, "there's no sign of him over there. He's not been in the container or the lorry and he hadn't spoken to any of the officers dealing with them either. I tried custody and they've been waiting for him to arrive and start interviewing for the last hour."

"No sign of him over _there_ either," Simon glanced back, "Shit, Rob, this isn't looking good."

"Gene can take care of himself," Robin tried to be reassuring but the slightly unsure look on his face detracted from his words.

"I know," Simon said quietly, "I know. But there's.. there's always a first time."

He watched as more and more of the gathered officers and detectives left the scene, their work done for the night. It became very clear that Gene wasn't amongst them, nor had he been for some time. Finally he turned to Robin and said, "We'll have to go back. We're going to have to tell Alex." He stared out across the dock and wondered where the hell he was. This wasn't like Gene and Simon's worry was growing. "_Come on, Gene,"_ he muttered under his breath, "_where the hell have you gone?"_

"He has to be somewhere," Robin still insisted, "people don't just vanish."

Simon bit his lip and caught Robin's eye.

"Some do," he whispered.

~xXx~

A whole day of bluffing passed by. A day of nodding politely, biting back his sarcasm and keeping the name Gene Hunt firmly off the table. He tried to look at it like an undercover job. Just for a few days he was Michael Kelman, with the fake wife and the fake car and the fake right to issue bloody tickets.

"Mister Kelman," a nurse approached him gently as the day wore on, "do you feel up to some visitors?"

_Oh great,_ Gene thought to himself, _it's me ever-loving wife again, with more Space Cow memorabilia or whatever it was called from the ticket issuing tosspots of Fenchurch. _

"Wonderful," he said, "some company is just what I need."

"It's not exactly a social visit," the nurse said quietly, "these two officers would like to speak to you about what you remember – if you're up to it?"

Gene stared as a couple of men approached, one in uniform and one without.

"Mister Kelman?" the plain-clothed man asked.

Gene took a deep breath.

"That's what it says on me bracelet," he sighed.

"My name's DS Fullerton, this is PC Willis. We'd like to speak to you about the incident."

_Incident._ Gene almost sighed. That word covered a multitude of sins.

"Take a seat, gentlemen," he mumbled, "I'm sure I'll be invaluable to yer investigation."

"Shall we begin with what you remember?" Fullerton suggested, "talk us through the last things you recall from that night."

Gene swallowed. He had no recall of 'that night'. He had recall of an early evening on the docks with a bunch of wooden crocodiles and some blunt object meeting with his head, but he knew nothing about whatever boat and gun and _incident_ that the two men wanted to hear about.

"Me memory's not faring well," Gene said gruffly.

"Just tell us anything that you can recall, Fullerton pressed, "it doesn't have to be highly detailed; start small and we'll work our way up."

_Work your way up yer bloody DCI's trouser leg, more like_, Gene thought to himself, pulling a face. He didn't like the DS, not in the slightest. He struck him as a brown-nosing type, trying to climb the ladder and not doing it through his work skills alone.

Gene had no recall of whatever shooting was supposed to have occurred in 2012. He knew that much. He also knew that – whatever the two stooges had in mind – it wasn't listening to tales from 19967. He made a quick decision, there was only one thing he could do: he decided to regurgitate the little information that he'd already been told by his doctors and nurses. The coppers weren't to know.

"I was, err, on my rounds," he cleared his throat and felt the most hideous sense of shame creep over him for even pretending to be a traffic warden, "issuing tickets. There were some cars parked that I was, err, taking a look at; tickets in me hand, waiting for a joyful journey on the windscreen." He saw Fullerton looking a little wary. Maybe he was embellishing it a little too much now. _Draw back, Hunt_. "And I heard something on the boat."

"The barge?" Asked PC Willis.

Gene hesitated. Had anyone called it a barge before?

"Yeah," he said, "that's right. So I took meself and my lovely yellow tickets to have a look. And then I got a bullet in me head." He paused. "That's all I can remember."

"Did you get a good look at the man who fired the gun?" Fullerton asked.

Gene huffed and puffed and shook his head.

"Was dark," he mumbled, "and the river air was getting in my eyes. So were me parking tickets."

"Do you think you might be able to recognise him from a photograph or a line-up?" Willis asked.

Gene _highly_ doubted that but in the interests of making an effort he said,.

"I might. I won't know until I see 'im, will I?"

The two men exchanged a glance and Fullerton brought out a photograph.

"Do you recognise this man, sir?" he asked, handing a large headshot to Gene.

Gene took the photograph and almost let his _delicious_ hospital lunch escape all over the bed.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled, his breath escaping in a gasp. Yes, he did. He did recognise the man. He want used to seeing him quite so crusty or straggly, and he wasn't used to seeing him quite so old but he knew that man without a doubt.

"Mister Kelman?" Fullerton prompted, "do you recognise him?"

Gene swallowed as his guts flipped over nervously.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "yes, I do recognise him."

"And he was the man who shot you?" asked Willis.

Gene stared at the photograph.

"Apparently so," he mumbled. He closed his eyes and shook his head a little. "Yes. Yes, he is definitely the man who shot me."

Gene handed the photograph back to Fullerton, no longer wishing to stare at Arthur Layton's disturbed eyes.

OK. He could see where this was going now. He couldn't understand _why_ but he could see what this was supposed to be about. He didn't understand why his mind - or some parallel universe – had set this up but somehow his _story_ was that he'd been shot by Layton, he suspected, on the night that he was found by Alex and Kim. The night that he'd gone gun-crazy and that Kim had helped Alex home. What the hell was his mind playing at? As though he wasn't in enough distress with his Mini-Metro and his glorious packet of parking tickets and his wife with the chest of doom, now he was subjected to playing a role in the events of the night of Bolly's _death?_

"The women," he croaked, "the two birds on the barge. What happened to them?"

Fullerton gave him a sympathetic look.

"One of them sustained only a graze from a bullet, but I'm afraid the second…" he bowed his head a little and Gene closed his eyes as acid burned in his chest.

"I get you," he nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Fullerton.

"Your bravery for your attempt at stopping the shootings is to be commended," Willis told him.

Gene shook his head slowly. This was a twisted game; a wicked, twisted game that he wanted no part of.

"Can I get some sleep now, officers?" he asked, "only I've got a big day ahead tomorrow. Doctors might let me put me feet on the floor is I'm lucky. Want to be rested for that."

"Or course," said Fullerton as the two officers got to their feet. He hesitated for a moment and pulled a bundle of paper from his jacket. "Oh, and before we go, I was wondering if you would just sign this petition."

He handed Gene the papers and a pen which Gene frowned at.

"For what? Better writing implements?" he asked, staring at the chewed Bic biro in his hand.

"To get DI March reinstated after those _awful_ and _wholly unsubstantiated_ allegations about the Nick Nailer cardboard cut-out," said Fullerton.

Willis frowned.

"I thought there was footage," he said.

"_Not since YouTube pulled it down for being pornographic_," Fullerton mumbled.

"Well, err, thank you gents," Gene handed the papers back, "but I think I'll hold back on this one if you don't mind."

"Very well, your loss," Fullerton said crossly, "when the streets are full of _scum_ and you're sitting in your bed, thinking; _'if only DI March was here to save me' _then you'll have no one to blame but yourself!" he gave an angry nod. "Goodbye!"

Gene rolled his eyes and pocketed the pen as the two men left, then his feelings grew dark once again. This new turn of events had disturbed him deeply. He was supposed to have been present at Alex's _death?_ Alex had never mentioned a man arriving on the scene and she surely would have recognised Gene, even in the darkness. But then this didn't seem to be reality. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes and his mind went over it again and again.

So Alex's death was a little over two months earlier, coinciding with his coma. Shit, _now_ what? Where was he supposed to go from there?

The one thing he knew for certain was that there was more to this _game_ than met the eye.

Tomorrow he'd stand.

The next day, he'd walk.

And then, the day after that, he'd run. He'd run far, far away until he found a way to get the answers he was looking for.

_That_ was the way he was going to get home.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: FFnet is glitching on me today so apologies if anything's gone weird with this chapter. My spellchecker knows 'tosspot'! That's about made my day! And Rant has earned a bajillion points, and I'm sure I haven't lost any because Kim hasn't even been in the last few chapters :P**_


	8. Chapter 7: Gene Vs The Tax Man

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing this story so far, I know it's somewhat different and fairly out there and I hope you'll keep reading to find out what the truth is about Gene's situation – don't worry, Ocean, you're supposed to be confused at this point! (I am and I'm writing it! :D) But things start moving on apace from the next chapter so I hope things will start to fall into place soon!**_

_**~xXx~**_

**Chapter 7**

"_Come on, Michael, you can do this."_

If the 'this' was throwing the physio assistant against a filing cabinet then, yes, Gene though he probably could.

However, the 'this' on this particular occasion was taking a couple of slow, difficult steps forward, assisted by railings to help him along. He felt angry and frustrated that his body wasn't behaving the way he expected it to. But what upset him more was finally understanding what it was like for those who went home; the ones who woke up and had to recuperate physically in the real world, and that was before they even got to the part where they tried to work out if the world they'd been in was real or all in their head.

God, he'd screwed them up, hadn't he? It had been starting to get to him for a while but now he was feeling fairly sure that, as much as he tried to help the officers who came to him, he ended up making their lives a misery instead. The doubts had been creeping in for some time. Now they slapped him around the face like the proverbial wet kipper.

"_One more time,"_ the medical cheer squad urged Gene as he turned and made a very slow journey back in the other direction. This was damn well slow going. He slowly made it back to the other side of the rail and gave an angry growl. The bastard situation was taking away his roar.

"Well done you!" the physio assistant cheered, "that's great progress. How about a smile?"

"How about eating yer lunch through a straw?" Gene suggested as he climbed back into his wheelchair.

He fell silent as a porter wheeled him back to his room. The visit that DS Fullerton and PC Willis had made to him the night before was playing on his mind. He thought it over again and again but he couldn't understand what was happening. None of it made sense. _Layton, Alex, the barge_ – it all swam around in his head and drove him crazy.

Just to drive him even _more_ round the bend his ever loving alleged wife had decided to pay him a visit with an extremely over-gilded and long-winded story about how she'd baked him a cake that was allegedly the best cake she'd ever baked and surpassed her previous record of most delicious cakes, but that he wasn't going to be able to eat it because his doctors had forbidden outside food in the hospital and so she had fed it to the postman slice by slice instead. The story was then followed up by another long-winded story about how the postman was suddenly struck down with a terrible stomach ache in the middle of his round.

He zoned out to avoid the vast majority of her story, thinking about anything and everything else instead. He watched the clock to see if visiting hours were anywhere near over. He even ate some of the horrid, cardboard-tasting lunch they served him. His attention was drawn quite acutely to a flurry of activity in the corridor outside as a trolley went by, surrounded by doctors and equipment while a voice frantically asked if the patient was going to be alright.

_Not if they've been fed any of this poison,_ Gene thought to himself, staring at the rather large amount of leftovers on his tray. Even though his stomach was empty and growling there was no way his taste buds were going to agree to another mouthful of whatever the mushy soup was supposed to be made of.

When she finally left and Gene was able to spend some quality time with the television, however, it was the final straw. The humiliation of the physio cheer squad, the cake he wasn't going to get to eat and the contents of his hospital lunch had all been building up into a vast explosion of Gene Hunt fury and it was when he switched on the television and heard one particular sentence that he blew his fuse;

"_Here's how the pasty tax is going to work…"_

The sight of pasties used for demonstration purposes instead of _eating_ purposes only served to rile Gene up further. He felt himself shaking with fury, almost foaming at the mouth. He started to resemble the crazed, insane Keats as he growled and howled and cried out in anger.

_"Cornish bloody pasties?"_ he cried, "they've gone _far too far!_ Last bloody pleasure left in life and they've gone and flaming _taxed_ it! What's next? Electric blanket tax? Big bosomed bird tax? Bloody Noel Edmonds bloody _Jumper_ tax for the likes of Shoebury?"

That was as much as he could take. He switched the television back off and rolled over, pulling the hospital sheet to his shoulders and quietly fuming. So, first he was going to work out how to get his strength back and get out of the hospital. Later, he was going to work out how to get home. And somewhere in the middle? He was going to do his goddamned best to repeal the bloody pasty tax.

~xXx~

As soon as Alex saw the grim faces at the doorway she just _knew_.

Her bond with Gene was so strong that no one even had to say a word, she knew that the operation at the docks had gone awry somehow. In fact, she'd known something wasn't right all day. She should have said something but she didn't want Gene to think she was paranoid, or worse than that – downright crazy. She could just imagine what his reaction would have been if she'd begged him not to go on the reasoning that she had a bad feeling.

There was no putting it off any longer. She had to bite the bullet and ask.

"What's happened?" she whispered, dreading the answer.

It wasn't quite the answer she had been expecting.

"Gene's disappeared."

Alex just stared. Simon and Robin both looked nervous, as though they'd been expecting to _say_ it even less than she'd been expecting to _hear_ it. She waited for them to say something, to expand upon their words, but they just stood with their heads slightly bowed, staring back at her.

"Disappeared?" she repeated.

"We looked everywhere, Alex," Robin nervously walked towards her, "I mean, we combed the whole area."

"We asked around, we called custody, called CID, everything," Simon added, "no one's seen him for the last couple of hours."

Alex was glad she was already sitting down. The way she began to shake, she could barely stay upright on the chair as it was.

"Have you tried his radio?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Simon looked down.

"It was still in his car," he said quietly.

"The Aston Martin is still at the scene," Robin told her,.

Alex's nerves increased by many times over. If Gene was nowhere to be seen that was one thing, but leaving the _car_ behind? Something _had_ to have happened.

"When did you last see him?" she whispered.

"Alex. I have no idea," Robin said nervously, "it was chaos out there. Shins being kicked, random unexpected drugs, crocodiles… _everywhere…"_

Simon blushed and tried to ignore the fact that he had one sitting in his car.

"We've done everything we can to track him down," he said, and, I have to admit, I have a really bad feeling about this."

Alex's heart sank.

"Oh, not you too," she whispered.

Simon nodded and looked away. He knew that if he looked at Alex he was only going to make her own worries worse and she already looked half-scared out of her mind.

"The last thing anyone saw was when he finished depositing the truck driver into one of the cars," Robin told her, "no one really knows what happened after that."

Alex quickly got to her feet. Her heart was racing.

"We need to start looking," she said, "we need to officially make it known that he hadn't been seen in a long time and that no one's been able to contact him. Anything could have happened to him."

Simon glanced at Robin.

"By 'anything' does that include," he began before he trailed off a little. "No, that's stupid."

Alex froze one arm in her coat.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Don't start a sentence and then stop," She frowned, "what were you going to say?"

"It's stupid. Forget it."

Alex took a step forward and said crossly,

"I've been here with Gene for sixteen years. I've learned every tip and trick involving the use of filing cabinets that you can imagine. Are you _really_ not going to complete that sentence?"

Simon took a step back as he found an angry Alex in his face.

"I'm sorry," he gulped. "I just really feel stupid for thinking it because it's not possible."

"_What_ isn't?"

Simon closed his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh.

"My bloody big mouth," he muttered. He opened his eyes and looked back at Alex. "Alright, the thing is, the way he went… it's like no one saw him at all, and there's just no sign, no trail…"

Alex looked at him a little blankly, not sure what he was getting at.

"And?"

Simon shuffled uncomfortably. He nodded at Alex and then at Robin.

"We've all done it," he said quietly.

Alex looked highly offended.

"We have not all '_done it'_!" she cried, "in what depraved nightmare of yours did _that_ happen?"

"No, no!" Simon cried, "I don't mean… '_done it',_ oh…" he slapped his forehead, "for pity's sake, why is your mind in the gutter?"

"It's not! _You're_ the one who said we'd all… _done it_."

"I meant _vanished_, Alex!" Simon explained, "we've all faded away. Gone back."

Alex stopped ranting and raving for a moment to think about what Simon had said. Her face contorted with a mix of thoughts and emotions. Not only did she feel completely stupid for the misunderstanding but she also felt more than confused by Simon's words.

"Simon, Gene can't fade out," she said, "he's dead."

"Yeah, I know that."

"There's no body for him to go to out there," Alex reminded him, "it's not possible."

"That's why I felt stupid and didn't want to finish my sentence," Simon protested, "but you just kept pressing me!"

"We're not back to the details of this 'doing it' scenario are we?" Robin looked a little pale.

Simon stared at him, aghast.

"No!" he cried, "what's wrong with everyone today?"

Alex ignored them both and shook her head.

"Gene _can't_ have faded away," she said, "he's dead." Even saying that still made her heart sting a little as she thought about it, "people don't just vanish for fun."

"Maybe there's a first time?" Simon said quietly.

Alex shook her head. She didn't believe that for a moment.

"No," she said quietly, "Gene's out there, somewhere. And either something's happened and he's found himself involved in a situation that he's unable to call in, or…"

Simon looked worried.

"Or what?" he asked.

Alex hung her head. That wasn't a sentence she wanted to complete,

"Let's just see what happens when we get back out there," she said quietly.

Robin and Simon exchanged a nervous look between them as Alex left the office at speed. Both had searched the area quite completely and found no sign of him.

"She won't find him either," Robin said quietly.

"But she is right," said Simon, "he can't have vanished. He has no body on the other side."

"No body, or _nobody?"_ frowned Robin.

Simon rubbed his forehead.

"Oh for –" he closed his eyes. "Never mind. Let's just get out of here," he said as they followed Alex to begin a manhunt they'd never expected to start.

~xXx~

The pasty tax had been the final straw. It had just about killed Gene's hope for the future of humanity dead, deep down inside. He couldn't imagine a future where the public's enjoyment of hot, pastry-based goodies was taxed by evil fat cats who wanted to pocket more pennies at the expense of those who had great taste in lunchtime snacks.

Between the pasty tax and the physio he was exhausted. He was getting stronger but the doctor had been right about it being a long, slow process. By the time evening rolled around and he was trying desperately to find one of those nice _educational_ channels with the ladies in a partial state of undress, making suggestive actions with their phones and wiggling their tongues at the cameras, he found himself falling asleep when he was only halfway through the stations.

In a deep sleep, oblivious to the world around him, the news played away on the screen. There were more stories about the pasty tax, something about some idiot in jail growing back his beard, and then the newsreader's expression became darker and sombre.

"_And tonight's main headline again,"_ she began, _"Bloodbath at Fenchurch East police station; three dead, four injured. A wanted man who escaped from hospital after an overdose in his prison cell in January showered Fenchurch East CID with gunfire this morning, killing several members of the department and leaving four others in a critical condition including a detective who had recently returned to work after heart surgery and a pregnant Detective Inspector. More news on this story as we receive it."_ She looked down for a moment before carrying on with the next story. _"And now for the Daily Beard Regrowth Update…"_

While a graph showing _millimetres X days passed_ appeared on the screen Gene carried on sleeping soundly, his snores drowning out the voice on the television set. He stayed oblivious to the familiar detective who lay down the hall, fighting for her life and the man who sat by her side, days away from losing his.

Sometimes being in ignorance was the best place to be.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: OK, I blame the migraine medication for this. That, or the fact that SOME PEOPLE been destroying my brain! I have made a stupid poll on my profile. It's allllllll about the shipping, folks. I want to know who and what you ship, and it's multi select so you can pick as many pairings as you like. Now, there are some (erm… minimal…) normal couplings in there… and then my brain went a bit crazy. And also, plant pots, beards and crocodiles might be involved. You can pick as many as you like, and above all it's JUST A BIT OF FUN! So please go and have fun!**_

_**I love you guys. You know that, right?**_

_**(But not in a shipping way…)**_


	9. Chapter 8: Horrors in Hospital Corridors

**Chapter 8**

"It's been a few days since we last spoke."

Gene found himself staring at the clock on the wall of the psychologists' office again. He gave a slight grunt and willed the minutes away.

"Yes, it has, figured out how to use yer calendar?" Gene commented snippily before realising he was supposed to be on his best behaviour still and regretted it.

After falling asleep the night before he'd entered what seemed like a perpetual nightmare, never really getting a good look at the faces of the people who passed through his dream but hearing screams and cries from them, feeling a sense of fear from every single one that was palpable and real. He had finally awoken with the arrival with his morning tray of breakfast – another burnt, cold toast mountain – and shaken the thoughts from his mind. But now that he was stuck in anther unhelpful session and trying to keep his mind on another subject memories of the dreams kept coming back to him.

"The last time we spoke you'd been having problems with your memory," the psychologist reminded him.

"Told you what I was like after oversleeping," Gene said gruffly, "feeling more like myself every day."

"Well that's good," the psychologist said, although his voice sounded a little doubtful. He looked at Gene seriously. "You were struggling to recall parts of your identity after emerging from a comatose state," he said.

Gene fought the urge to demonstrate to the psychologist what it was like to struggle with a filing cabinet.

"Took a few days for me memory to come back," he lied earnestly, "I'm feeling more like myself now."

The psychologist looked at hm.

"What's your middle name?" he asked.

Gene froze. Suddenly the damn psychologist had reached into his bag of tricks and become a hundred times sneakier.

"Me what?" he asked.

"Your middle name."

Gene stared at him. He swallowed and took a chance.

"I don't have one," he said.

The psychologist looked down at his file, took in a deep breath and let it out heavily through his nostrils.

"What about your date of birth?" he asked.

Gene chewed against the inside of his cheek.

"Not polite to ask a lady or a coma patient that question," He said.

The psychologist looked at him seriously.

"Mister Kelman," he began quietly, "I have heard positive things from your doctors. You are making progress, no one is denying that. But I also feel that you have a question mark over your identity and you're telling us what you think we want to hear.

Gene wanted to make good use of the tempting filing cabinet in the corner of the room. He could almost hear the clank of the psychologists' back against the metal.

"Like I told you, doc," he bristled, "still got a few problems with me memory. But it's getting straightened out now."

The psychologist didn't seem very sure of that. He made a note of something, linked his fingers together and leaned across the desk.

"You're trying to force things," he said, "but doing so isn't going to let you out and home any earlier. You still have a great deal of physical therapy ahead and that could take a good couple of weeks, perhaps longer. Just let your memory return slowly over the same time, and be honest with us so we can get you the right help that you need to improve."

Gene narrowed his eyes. The only help he needed was for someone to give him a hand out of the wheelchair and carry the psychologist across the room to the damn filing cabinet for him.

"Well," he said coldly, "you're the expert. So they say."

The psychologist reached into his pocket and pulled out his spectacles. He cleaned them slightly before he placed them on his nose and made a couple more notes.

"All the help you need is right on the table," he began.

"Unlike me lunch, which goes straight in the bin," Gene mumbled.

"But you have to be prepared to accept it," the psychologist told him.

Gene held his jaw firm and pulled together all the false reassurance he could handle.

"I am prepared," he mumbled, hoping the man would buy it. He felt dirty even lying about it. He knew who he was and that wasn't changing. But with the threat

of weeks of this ahead, knowing that he had to find a way out of his strange situation, he'd have to turn the fakery up a notch.

Alex's '_I'm Fine'_ technique was in full swing.

~xXx~

Alex had already combed the docks almost single-handedly by the time uniform arrived.

"We told you, Alex," Robin said gently, "he's not here. We covered the whole area.

Alex knew that. As much as it pained her to think about it she know that if Gene had been there then Robin or Simon would have found him. But she needed to go and see for herself. He really seemed to have vanished and wherever he was her panic levels were reaching a 9.5.

"He has to be somewhere," she told herself more than anyone else, "he has to be around here. He wouldn't have wandered off, he's not a lost tortoise."

Simon's phone rang and he pulled the slightly clunky thing from his pocket.

"Hello?" he said as he answered the call, "…Eddie. What's wrong? Oh, you've not been upsetting Marci again have you?" he sighed, "because I'm not extracting more pencils from your ear f you've pissed her off again." He froze as Eddie began to speak. The look on his face betrayed the fact that something was wrong, very wrong. His eyes skipped to Alex momentarily then looked away guiltily as he turned around to continue the call. His reaction made Alex's fears travel up a notch and sent a shudder through her.

"Simon, what is it?" she asked. When he didn't reply she only worried more until finally she heard him say,

"Thanks… thanks for telling us, Eddie. Appreciate that."

Alex's eyes were anxious as he hung up.

"What is it?" she asked again, and this time her tone demanded a reply. It soon became clear from Simon's expression that the news he had to replay was darker than she'd been anticipating.

"It's not about Gene," he said, his head bowed.

Alex swallowed, her fear jammed in her throat like a gobstopper.

"Then what's happened?" she whispered.

"_Keats is out,"_ Simon whispered.

Could three words have caused more fear and anxiety? Neither Alex nor Robin could think of anything they could have heard that would have made them feel so scared.

"He's what?" Robin found himself shaking.

"The hospital just contacted the station to alert us," Simon said quietly, "they asked Eddie to pass on the news."

"Who the _fuck_ let him out?" Robin demanded.

"Like anyone was going to let him out," said Simon, "he decided, I suppose, that he'd had enough of the hospital cuisine."

"He vanished too," Alex whispered. It was a statement, as though she knew for certain.

"What are you saying?" Robin frowned, "you think Gene's suddenly developed Keats's… _powers of dematerialisation_?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," Alex admitted, "I don't know what's going on."

"The hospital found his room empty," Simon went on to explain, "his restraints were in a heap on the floor and the room was still locked. No one knows how he got out, only the fact that he did. "

"Shit," Alex breathed. She turned around, closed her eyes and turned her head to the sky. "_Shit."_

"You think he's got something to do with this?" Robin asked quietly.

"Come on, Rob," Simon began , "Keats and Gene both disappear at the same time, it doesn't take a genius to make the connection."

"But that doesn't make a lot of sense," Robin shook his head, "even if Keats has disappeared then how would he know where Gene was? And what exactly are you assuming he's done?"

"Killed him? Kidnapped him? Tied him up and played non-stop _Wham _albums until he begged for mercy? I don't know!" cried Simon, his hands in the air, "but Gene's vanished and now _Keats_ has gone. I'm not the only one making the connection, am I?" he turned to Alex, "_Am_ I?"

Alex stared at him. She felt all her fears growing and churning her up inside. She didn't know whether Keats was connected or not, and she couldn't clear her mind enough to think about it. She shook her head a little and said,

"Simon, we have to keep our options open. We don't know for certain what happened. That's one possibility, but Keats isn't the only person with a vendetta against Gene, pick any name at random from his list of collars over the last sixteen years."

Simon's phone rang for a second time and he answered it quickly, turning away as he listened to the voice on the line. The look Alex and Robin exchanged as they waited for news disclosed their fear. While no one could say for certain if Keats was involved the coincidence was pretty strong.

"What is it this time?" Alex whispered as Simon turned back round to them.

Simon took a deep breath. He let the air fill his lungs and tried to exhale some of his fears away as he breathed out but they weren't going anywhere. He hated to admit how much he was starting to worry.

"Fletcher's got word that Keats is back in Fenchurch West," he said, "he just walked in like nothing had happened."

"He can't do that," frowned Robin, not yet acquainted with the way that Keats seemed to conduct his work.

"Yeah, well, he can just bloody walk back _out_ again," Simon mumbled, marching to his car.

_"Wait,"_ Robin called after him, "where are you going now?"

"To _question_ the bastard!" cried Simon as though that had been obvious, "he's still under arrest from last time. The fact he's been in hospital for the last month and a half makes no difference. He's an escapee, we need to pull him in and if I happen to ask him a few questions about Gene along the way then that's a bonus."

"Si, just wait a minute," Robin tried to call him back. He could see Simon starting to become angrier and didn't think any good could possibly come of that. All he wanted was for Simon to give himself a few minutes to cool down but as he watched the car quickly leaving the area _that_ idea faded away to an impossibility. He closed his eyes and gave a deep and worried sigh, "_Shit."_

Alex wasn't sure whether she agreed with Simon's actions and assumptions or not. She knew that it was a fairly large coincidence but whether Keats was responsible for Gene's disappearance she couldn't say for sure.

"Let's just hope he's sensible about this," she said to Robin, trying and failing to be reassuring, "and he _is_ right, we did need to bring him in."

"Yeah, but in one piece though," robin said worriedly. He rubbed his forehead. "And there goes my ride back. Knew I should have brought my own car."

"I'll drive you back to the station," Alex told him, "we'll wait for Simon there."

"If he makes it back," Robin said anxiously.

Alex wanted to tell Robin that she was certain Simon could look after himself and that he'd make it back no only in one piece but with Keats in tow. However, her own worries stopped her. She knew what Keats was like. Maybe Simon would bring him in safely and they'd get back to find him locked away in a nice cosy cell. Or maybe all hell would break loose and Keats would slip away unseen as he had so many times before.

Above all, the main outcome she hoped for was for Simon to remain in one piece – while not letting Keats in his trousers this time.

~xXx~

The rest of Gene's day didn't get any better. He went from one course of therapy to another; from his psychologist session to physio to memory therapy and finally counselling for his 'trauma'. The only trauma that Gene recalled was the rather revolting mountain of hard, cold rice he was served for dinner.

By the time all the different departments had finished with him for one day he was exhausted and drifted to sleep before he even had a chance to switch his faithful little TV set on. This time his sleep was mostly dreamless and peaceful, no nightmares to disturb his slumber and of that he was grateful. Of his early morning wake-up call courtesy of Geoff and a loofah the following morning, he was _less_ so.

He had been majorly unimpressed by a visit from the self-proclaimed _cool guys of the parking attendant world who_ arrived en masse to serenade him with a chorus of _Drive_ by The Cars, handed him a bunch of flowers in the same colour as his parking tickets, stuck three tickets on his head for lying in bed too long and finally disappeared leaving a confused, mortified and increasingly angry Gene in their wake. The only reason they'd all escaped in one piece was because he was too shocked to resort to violence.

Finally by mid-afternoon everyone had left him alone – there were no psychiatrists or psychologists or whatever the hell they were trying to put words into his mouth, no rails and cheesy physio cheer squads trying to make him feel like an overgrown one year old taking his first steps, no wives baking cakes he was never going to get to eat and no traffic wardens to smother him with fixed penalty fares.

"Ahh, television," he greeted the set warmly, "my one true friend."

He switched on the set, slightly anxious that more pasty tax facts were going to come his way, and watched while the picture cleared and came into focus. He leaned against his pillow and aimed the remote at the television, taking his time to skip through the channels until he reached BBC News 24. He'd intended to avoid the news for fear of running into more info about hot pastry-based snacks but the sight of a man with a ruler and a close-up on some facial hair paralysed him with fear.

"_As you can see, the beard regrowth has reached five… almost six millimetres,"_ a voice said seriously, with a smattering of applause from nearby.

"This is a sick, sick world," Gene mumbled, about to change the channel but his co-ordination was a still on the ropey side and the remote slipped out of his hands, onto the floor. "Bugger it all to _hell_," he snapped, trying to work out how he was going to manage to puck the damn thing up before the beard put him at severe risk of going back into a coma.

"_And that was todays' beard regrowth update straight from HMP Fenchurch,"_ the newsreader said. He paused as he awaited the next line on the autocue before he continued, "_and today's top story again: police are still searching for Arthur Layton, the man wanted for the death of three members of Fenchurch East CID and constabulary, and the critical condition of four others."_

Gene's stomach literally lurched. The words grasped him like angry hands and shook him up. It felt as though the newsreader had grabbed him by the collar and yelled the words into his face for all the impact that they had on him. His heart began to race and his hands felt shaky even though they didn't look like they were trembling when he glanced down at them.

"Shit," he mumbled as his throat almost closed up and his mouth grew very dry. What the hell? What the fuck was going on? A horrid memory filtered back to him; the memory of Robin's dark and tearful words after he remerged in his world… _the bloodbath_. He hadn't realised… he hadn't figured that he'd arrived in this strange place – real or otherwise – at around that time. He'd not made the connection. He stared at the screen as the newsreader continued.

"_A thirty-five year-old Detective Inspector finally regained consciousness today, forty-eight hours after extensive lifesaving surgery following the attack which saw her receiving two gunshot wounds to the abdomen. Kim Stringer was five months pregnant when the gunman opened fire on her and her colleagues. She lost the baby but her own condition is now thought to be stable."_

There were not words to describe the way that Gene felt on hearing those words. He felt sicker than he had the morning he'd woken up after his heaviest night of drinking, trying to get his _thing_ on with the plant pots outside the station. Shit, why hadn't he thought about this? Why hadn't he thought about _any_ of this? He was in 2012, he could have done something. He could have alerted someone, he could have warned them. _Couldn't_ he?

Bugger, how did this work again? His brain was all over the place. He didn't even know if he was in the real world, in his head or in a Shoebury-esque parallel universe. Where the bloody hell was that science fiction-brained geek of the year when he needed him _anyway?_ Oh yeah, six feet under. It was 2012 and Simon has been dead for almost two years. _Shit._

So how _did_ this work? He wanted to kick himself for thinking about it. He knew that his officers couldn't change the past in his own world. Why would _this_ be any different? His head was starting to throb. OK, so he was getting a complete breakdown of what it was like to be an Alex or a Sam or a Simon and to wake up in a strange place with no grasp over how tangible his surroundings were.

And what's more, he was hating every last damn miserable moment of it.

His eyes scanned the room and settled outside of the door. The corridor seemed quiet. This was as good a chance as any, he thought to himself. With pictures of Layton appearing on the television he felt an angry bile growing in his chest.

Very slowly he moved his legs until they dangled over the side of the bed and he used his hands to slowly lower himself onto the floor. His knees almost buckled and gave way beneath him but he just about stayed on his feet, using the bed to hold himself steady. He felt a bit like some kind of lanky chimpanzee as he tried to move towards the door, grasping every piece of furniture that he could for stability along the way. The few steps to the doorway took so much energy that he just wanted to go right back to bed but he couldn't, not when he suspected he knew what he'd find just down the hall. He needed to see. He needed to find out for himself.

He shuffled awkwardly along the corridor, gripping to each window ledge he passed to help him by. The harsh lights above him lit up the ICU signs. He felt his anxiety increasing. There was a part of him that felt as though he was intruding and had no right to be there, and another that couldn't stay away.

"_Molly I'm sorry, it's family only."_

Shit, what the - ?

Gene hung back and pressed his back against the wall as far as he could as though he could somehow blend in and remain unseen. He very cautiously took a look around the corner, trying not to stretch too far in case he revealed his allegedly hairy backside to the rest of the intensive care unit through the back of his hospital gown. He almost toppled over in shock as he saw someone whose face was horribly familiar talking to a teenage girl.

"Bloody Batman," Gene mumbled quietly under his breath.

Down the corridor, there he was; _Robin._ His whole posture spoke of his despair as he hoped and prayed that Kim would be OK, and not just in a physical sense either. His dark shirt hung from him as though his limbs held no structure, flopping and bending as all his strength went into supporting Kim instead of himself. Standing in front of him was a slightly frustrated teen who held a small bunch of flowers in one hand while the other was bunched into a fist and placed on her hip. Gene recognised the girl too. Even if Robin hadn't said her name then he'd have known her from watching Alex's tape.

"The daughter," he muttered as he watched them.

"_I just want to see her!"_ Molly protested, "_come on, Robin, just five minutes."_

"_I don't make the rules, Molly,"_ Robin told her, his tone fretful, _"it's family only for now."_

"_You're not family either,"_ Molly said haughtily.

"_Ring says otherwise,"_ Robin held his hand toward Molly to demonstrate as she stepped backwards in frustration.

"_It's not fair_!" she cried, "_I let you both see Mum when she was supposed to only have family to see her."_

"_You named us as representative adults in her care."_

"_So name me as representative school girl in Kim's care!"_

"_Don't be sarcastic, Molly."_

Gene drew back a little, closed his eyes and breathed heavily. His heart was thumping away like he'd rarely felt before. He felt a real sense of fear, although he wasn't sure what he was even scared about. He shook his head slowly as he tried to work out where to go from there. How real _was_ this place? If he charged down the corridor would Robin know who he was? Even if he did, could he even help him? And besides, Batman clearly had enough on his plate right then.

Gene vaguely listened to the voices arguing, one insisting that she wanted to see Kim for just a few minutes, the other telling her to wait. All the while Gene's head was playing to him one thought on repeat –

_I took your mother away from you._

So was this it? Was this what this experience was all about; one long, massive, endless guilt trip? That's how it was starting to look.

He slowly took a step forward to peer around the corridor as things started to quieten down but to his horror he found the girl charging towards him and she tripped over his leg, sending flowers scattered across the floor. He gripped the edge of the wall to stay on his feet and let forth a string of expletives as Molly dusted off her hands and glanced up at him, somewhat sheepishly.

"Sorry," she mumbled although her apology was tainted with a little annoyance that his hairy leg had gotten in her way in the first place.

Gene's limbs started to weaken with the shock as he watched her gathering up the fallen flowers on the ground. His chest tightened and he could hardly breathe.

"_Molly,"_ he mumbled before he could stop himself.

The girl glanced up nervously, shocked to hear him say her name.

"How do you know that?" she demanded.

Gene swallowed and gave a helpless shrug.

"I've got ears, I heard yer row," he said.

Molly looked down as she finished gathering the flowers together.

"Oh," she said quietly.

The moment was the strangest Gene had ever known. He felt his mouth go very dry as he watched her stand again, flowers in hand, and before he could think it through he blurted.

"I'm so sorry – about yer mother."

Molly froze to the spot. She looked at him with utter confusion and something approaching trepidation.

"How do you know about my mother?" she whispered.

Inwardly Gene cursed.

"Bloody good question," he mumbled. He swallowed and tried to pull himself together as he said, "heard yer bloody row, remember?" the girl seemed a little doubtful.

"I never said what happened to her," she told him, backing away slightly.

Gene understood more all the time. He thought about all the officers faced with people they knew – parents relatives, friends – who looked back at them without a hint of familiarity in their eye. Now he understood that too. He didn't like being on the other side of this, not one little bit. He was staring at Molly as though expecting her to miraculously know who he was when he realised he must be looking more and more like some kind of creep hanging around hospital corridors with a big bag of sweets.

"She loves you, you know." Shit, he was crap at this. He was bad enough at forcing himself to say the _'L' _word for any reason. Now he was using it to freak out teenage girls?

"Who?" Molly demanded.

"Yer mum."

Molly backed away.

"What the hell _are_ you, some kind of freaky medium?" she demanded.

Gene stared at her and felt a sudden and unexpected pang of sadness. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her who he really was. What was he supposed to say; _"No, I'm more or less your step-dad from another world and I've been slipping it to yer mother for the last twelve years"? _That was going to be a great comfort after already freaking the girl out. He supposed there was no good answer here.

"No, I'm bloody St. Peter," he told her for want of a better solution.

Molly's brow furrowed as she frowned at him.

"Bloody weirdo," she said and stormed on past him, flowers in hand.

Gene stared after her as he watched her go. He felt very strange indeed. There was a horrible churning sensation in the pit of his stomach that reminded him what a rotten situation he was in. Could he have handled that better? What was he _supposed_ to say? Maybe he shouldn't have said _anything_, kept his head down and just let her gather her flowers and walk on by. It was a bloody impossible one to figure out.

His legs were giving way now. He didn't have a lot of strength left. If he was going to do anything then he had to make it fast before he ended up in a big Gene Hunt splat pile on the ground, hairy arse and all. He shuffled very slowly down the corridor, gripping window ledges and doorways to help him pass, until he reached the door of the hospital room he'd seen Robin addressing Molly outside just moments earlier. As he peered through the window he felt a heavy feeling in his chest. It could have been his heart sinking.

The sight that met him through the window wasn't something he wanted to see; the pale and near-lifeless body lying in bed was a far cry from the Kim Stringer who'd blundered into his world in 1995, covered herself with metal and ink and charged her way through myriad dangers and decisions with her clunky boots and a fast fist. He watched Robin bow his head over her, his hands clenched and his hair falling across his eyes, almost as though he was praying, even though he had no one to pray to. There was no god. Robin knew that.

"There's just me," Gene mumbled, "me, a pub and a crap-load of bloody I_ Love London _memorabilia."

He wasn't sure he'd really believed that Robin and Kim were a couple until that moment. It was one of those _'seeing it to believe_ it' things, along with Malcolm's suit and Alex's Easter bunny costume. He held his jaw stiffly as his mind superimposed another image over the sight he was staring at; himself in Robin's place with Alex in the bed. He'd been where Robin was more than once. And although the news had described Kim as stable and the last thing Robin had known before he lost his life was that Kim was starting to recover there was no way of knowing what happened after that.

He shook his head and turned away, wanting to kick something or throw an object at a stupid person to vent some of his anger and frustration about how unfair the fucking situation was but before he could find a way to get rid of his fury a large man intercepted him, loofah in hand.

"You missed your bedbath," he told him.

Gene cursed like he had never cursed before.

"What a crying bloody shame," he said in between expletives.

"Hold my loofah," Geoff demanded, "I've got to get my new thrash metal album to play you."

With a scowl of fury and increasing anger Gene took the loofah from his would-be bather.

"Be my pleasure to help," he said as he clobbered him around the head with it.

He'd never seen anything that big fall that fast over so little before.

"_Whoops." _


	10. Chapter 9: In The Land of the Lanky

_**A/N: Dedicated to a beautiful person. **_

_**Who now owes me big-time :)**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 9**

"Get that thing away from my arm!"

"I'm sorry Mister Kelman but you can't just go around knocking people out with loofahs."

"You stick that in me and I'll find something equally pointy to stick in your – _ow!"_ Gene stopped talking and growled as the nurse stabbed him in the arm with a needle after much fighting and protesting and let its contents slip into his veins.

"It's just a sedative," she told him, "help you get a little sleep."

"I don't need sleep I need loofah-less bed-baths and a fine evening walk down the 'allway!"

"You can't go wandering around I ICU – Mister Kelman, _please!"_ cried the nurse as he tried one more time to make a getaway and ended up flashing her with parts she did not wish to see.

"I'm perfectly capable of…" the room started to swim as the sedative started to kick in, "of –" he fell back against his pillow, the light swimming in circles in his vision, "of walking…. a few…. _Hnnnnggggfffff,_" he concluded as the injection knocked him out and he became instantly incapable of committing another loofah attack.

~xXx~

A kick in the head saw to the slight movement that he'd caught from the corner of his eye. A second sealed the deal. There was no way the man was going anywhere for a long time. Just to make sure he quickly loaded up a needle with something that he usually used for pleasure rather than business and popped it quickly into his arm.

"That'll calm you the fuck down," he said before finally locating the rope to make sure he wasn't going anywhere even if he did wake up.

~xXx~

Simon didn't think. He didn't plan. He didn't have any idea what he was going to do when he got there, only that he needed to get to Fenchurch West as fast as Gene with a new car and get his hands on Keats's scrawny little neck.

He pulled up in the car park and moved quickly'; leaving the car, pacing to the doors and passing through the all-too familiar entrance that he'd copied piece for piece from Fenchurch East. It made him spit in distaste and fury. Keats had done anything that he could to emulate Gene. Had he reached the point of vanquishing the original?

"Can I help – sir?" the woman on the desk called out, "_Sir!_ Can I help you?" there was a pause as Simon began to take on the stairs, two at a time, "You can't go up there without a visitor's pass, sir –"

"Here's my visitor's pass," Simon called behind him, flipping her the birdie.

"Well there's no need for _that,"_ a voice called back after him.

Simon shook his head and gave an angry growl. He wasn't used to feeling quite this angry or determined. Something had changed within him; it had been a slow process but he was gaining strength and a firmer footing in the world. Getting his own 'local' had helped to him to feel more settled and a slow change in his attitude to the world had been taking place. He suspected some of that was about Robin being there. Despite the fact that they weren't together, whatever Simon still hoped for, a lot of what he'd been fighting against was becoming a part of a world that kept them apart. Now Robin was there, he couldn't blame the world for anything. He couldn't hold it at fault for what had happened, not really. He just had to hope that one day things might be different.

He already knew the way. He hated the fact that he did. He'd been drafted into CID twice by Keats, once as part of a plan to get hold of Keats's tape, the other in an attempt to keep the truth from Gene and Alex after he'd let his guard down and ended up sleeping with Keats.

The one good thing to come out of the terrible mess was that _this_ time he knew exactly where to go.

No one stopped him as he paced through Fenchurch West CID. He suspected some of them might have even thought he still worked there and had been locked in the basement for the last god knows how many months. To be fair, it wouldn't have surprised him if Keats stooped to that one day. The empty desk where DI Stone once sat stood out like a sore thumb amongst the men and women bustling around the office.

He found himself at Keats's door, the lettering on the glass copied from Gene in all but the name. Unfortunately for Keats, a mirror image CID was about where the similarity ended.

Simon quite forgot who he was for a moment. He wasn't sure quite what happened but he kicked the door open like some kind of movie hero. He needed to get some of that anger out somehow. His eyes settled upon Keats, sitting at the desk, his expression torn between shock and vague amusement while his body was behaving quite strangely indeed. Simon noticed him twitching and juddering, a throwback to his crazed hospital days that wasn't quite going anywhere. He got to his feet slowly and gripped the desk to try to keep himself as calm and still as possible.

"My dear friend Simon Shoebury," he said with a twisted smile, "well, it's nice to see you. You after that desk out there? Because I'll tell you now, you're over-qualified but it wouldn't be the first time you've had a demotion, would it?"

Simon ignored his words. No amount of sarcasm and alleged humour was going to throw him off the scent of tracking down Gene.

"Discharged yourself, I see?" he spat, grasping cuffs from his belt and quickly slapping them onto Keats' wrist. The audacity of Simon's actions genuinely shocked Keats into silence. He couldn't quite believe what happened, even less so when Simon chained his own wrist to Keats's and pulled him forward.

"Well, Simon, I can understand why you might be feeling lonely," he began, "but if you're hoping for a day of bondage I'm not interested. That ship has sailed. You had your chance."

"Shut up," Simon pulled Keats angrily away from his desk by the cuffs and pushed him against the wall. "Where is he?"

"Telling me _who_ might help."

"Gene!"

"Well he's in my desk drawer," Keats rolled his eyes, "didn't you know? He's hiding there."

"Don't play games," Simon hissed, his anger boiling over.

"Simon, I have not seen your _daddy_ –" Keats sneered with a grin before Simon knocked the smug smile off his face with another push against the wall.

"Shut up, Keats," he spat, "it doesn't take a genius to work it out. Gene disappears and you discharge yourself through the solid wall?"

"I don't have a clue what you're trying to tell me," Keats said, his arms folded.

"I'm trying to tell you," Simon spat "that you're nicked. Again."

"Evidence?" Keats prompted.

"You were nicked anyway," Simon told him, "charges still stand for assaulting your last DI. And this time there's no foam around your lips to protect you, so you're going to spend a nice afternoon in the cells, then answer a lot of interesting questions."

"Here's an interesting question," Keats spat as Simon pulled him towards the door and out into CID where many pairs of eyes focused upon the spectacle, "have you started _deliberately_ trying to be Gene mark-two or is it genetic?" Simon silenced Keats with one hefty shove against the door before leading him out of the station.

He'd expected him to put up more of a fight, he really had. He wasn't sure why he didn't, except that his mind still seemed a little more scrambled than usual. After weeks barking and spitting like a rabid dog Simon supposed that Keats wouldn't be himself for quite a while. As long as he didn't give Simon too much trouble on the way to the station then that was the important thing. He wasn't in the mood for losing his no claims bonus with a Keats-related accident that day.

X

Keats turned his head towards the passenger widow to block Simon from seeing the smug smile that he indulged himself with. The sudden arrival of a far more forceful Simon than Keats was used to had come as quite a shock but there was an interesting side to his arrest that he couldn't wait to experience. He'd spent so many weeks getting that power under his control. He was finally there… _almost_ there… it still got the better of him sometimes but by and large he controlled it instead of the other way around.

And now? This was going to be the ultimate test.

Would he still be in control? He would soon find out. And if he was then he knew for certain that he could begin the next phase.

The dark times were about to begin.

~xXx~

Gene paced corridor after corridor after corridor, each one looking the same as the last. What was _with_ that? He was sure that there had been signs and notices during his last stroll through ICU just a short time before.

He didn't remember waking up again, nor did he remember getting out of bed. He was just walking… walking… where was Kim's room? He had to find it. Had to warn them. Had to warn Robin what was coming up next… had to tell him about Layton. To stay well away from his flat. To keep safe – fuck the paradoxes, he couldn't stand by and let Layton put a gun to his had again. Not after what he'd seen. Not after he'd finally witnessed for himself what Robin and Kim were like together.

Where was the room? Where was the _bloody room?_ He was _sure_ it was just down here… so certain of that… but now there was just another corridor, another corridor and another one, and then a corridor full of giraffes –

_What?_

"What the bleeding' hell –"

Gene was starting to get a sense that something wasn't right.

The giraffes all turned to face him as he stood there.

"_What?"_ he demanded.

He didn't like their beady eyes, all trained upon him, questioning his right to be there.

_His_ right to be there! What the hell were _they_ doing there? He wasn't the one with the mile-high neck and the splotches all down his back.

"What are you lanky losers staring at?" he demanded, acutely aware that one of them had dipped its neck to stare at the gap in the back of his hospital smock. "Bugger off out of it, neckwad!"

One of the giraffes started chewing on a sign. _The Ear, Nose and Throat_ department was now signposted as being the _E - r, N- - e and T - - at _department.

Gene narrowed his eyes at the herd. They were blocking his route and he was fairly sure Kim's room was just beyond them. How was he going to get past? He supposed he could lure them away. What did giraffes eat? Bamboo wasn't it? Or was that panda bears? No, that was Panda _cars_. Oh, no, wait, they ate petrol.

This wasn't helping.

"Take yer long legs and make yet way out the nearest exit before I perform plastic surgery and turn you into a heard of alpacas!" he threatened. The giraffes seemed unfazed, with one plucky fellow stooping down and looking Gene in the eye. Gene's blood boiled. Who the hell did these bastards think they were anyway? What he needed was a filing cabinet… a really _tall_ filing cabinet.

Unfortunately the only one he could find was a normal sized one in the relative's room so he shoved the tall guy inside and pressed him up against it by the neck.

"Listen," He hissed, "I'm a reasonable man. And I like giraffes. Anyone whose knees are knobblier than mine gets my vote. But you have no right to obstruct a detective chief inspector on his way to create a bloody metaphysical nightmare so take yer lanky pals and bugger off to a World's Tallest Tosspot convention!"

He gave the giraffe one last shove against the cabinet for good measure and turned to leave but found himself suspended in mid-air, dangling by the smock as the giraffe caught the fabric in his mouth and lifted Gene clean up from the floor. He swung him around, slammed him into the cabinet and then let him fall.

And he fell.

And he _fell._

He waited to hit the ground… couldn't have been _that_ far, could it? …but he just kept on falling and the ground never seemed to _happen_, not until he heard a voice that broke through the nightmare he'd been having for hours and hours on end –

"_Michael? Michael?"_

Gene could hear the voice. He could feel himself being dragged out of his nightmare, and not by the teeth of a giraffe this time.

"_Hmmmpf?"_ he mumbled.

"Michael?" the voice came again, "are you awake?"

Gene cautiously opened one eye. He screamed. Janey sat by his bed, looking shocked and hurt.

"Sorry," Gene mumbled, "I was hoping you were just another giraffe."

Janey tried to ignore that.

"You've been out cold for a long time," she said.

Gene rubbed his eyes, his head throbbing a little. The bloody fevered nightmares played through his mind. Great, so now to add to all the guilt and the distress and the trauma his experience had also bought him a phobia of giraffes.

"What's the time?" he mumbled.

"Five o'clock," said Janey.

"Right."

"Five o'clock on the seventh of April," Janey continued, "you've been out for more than a day."

Gene stared at her. That seemed impossible. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"How much bloody sedative did they _give_ me?" he mumbled.

"I don't know," Janey said, getting to her feet, "maybe they used something that was meant for _giraffes_."

Gene looked at her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

Janey looked back to him.

"You're obviously hoping for someone with longer legs than your own wife," she snapped, "so I'm going home. I've got cakes to bake."

Gene closed his eyes and groaned as he watched his would-be wife leave the room. He couldn't pretend that it wasn't a relief to see her go, but he did feel a little guilty.

He tried to move but his limbs felt heavy. A whole _day?_ He'd lost a whole _day?_ He needed to get back to that room somehow to warn Robin about the impending danger, but as _someone_ appeared in the doorway it didn't look like it was going to happen any time soon.

"I got a new loofah," Geoff told him, slapping it against the palm of his hand, "_and_ a compensation claim against you for physical and emotional trauma."

Gene closed his eyes and wished he could click his heels together three times but this wasn't the Wizard of Oz.

So daytime was a no-go. But he knew he could do it now. He knew he could walk and he was sure he could get back to the right room. He would watch the staffing measures carefully and pick the quietest moment. That night he would do the one thing he spent years advising against to those lost and desperate in his own world.

He was going to find Robin and change the past. Maybe _that_ would be his key out of there.

In fact, anywhere that didn't lead to the giraffe enclosure would be a bonus.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: You rotten lot… poor, poor Simon… everyone else's highest ship on my poll is at least with another person, but Simon/Crocodiles is joint favourite ship of all right now! No wonder he wears the bloody jumper all the time! If you haven't voted yet, go and have fun picking your ships!**_


	11. Chapter 10: Just In Time?

**Chapter 10**

It didn't matter how many times gene made an attempt at escaping his room that night, someone always found him and put him back to bed.

"You need to rest," A nurse told him, forcing a sleeping pill into his hand, "you didn't have a very peaceful nap earlier. You were muttering about things with very long necks."

Gene scowled.

"Gene Hunt does not _do_ 'naps'," he muttered.

"Who's Gene Hunt?" asked the nurse.

Gene closed his eyes and focused his frustration in the breath he exhaled. He'd been doing so well at not slipping that name into the conversation.

"Just some prat who doesn't know how to keep his gob in the off position," he muttered.

"Take your pill," the nurse told him.

Gene made every attempt at avoiding it; dropping it in bed, hiding it under his tongue, using very bad sleight of hand that he'd learned for a CID magic show one Christmas in the late 80s which had left the station on fire, sprouting handkerchiefs from the roof and with a serious rabbit infestation problem. But the nurse knew every trick in the book and didn't leave until the pill had actually made it down his neck, much to his anger and chagrin.

He tried to fight it, he did all he could to stay awake but the pill was stronger than the lion on this occasion and he found his eyes drawing closed and his mind shutting down. _Just a few minutes_. He'd just sleep for little while, then he'd get back to his plan. Robin would still be by Kim's bedside when the pill wore off. He'd sleep, wake, find the man and see where things went from there.

That is, of course, unless a heard of giraffes had other ideas.

~xXx~

Simon blundered into the station with Keats still attached to his wrist.

"Look who's back," he said to the sergeant on duty, "listen, I need you to process him right away and an interview room set up immediately."

"Sir?"

"He broke out of his hospital room –" Simon began.

"I think you'll find nothing was 'broken'," Keats commented.

"And I've just picked him up at Fenchurch West," Simon continued, "this man needs to be interviewed ASAP." He unfastened the cuff from his wrist and handed him over. "You'll need someone to stay with him at all times," Simon told him, they'll need the cuffs. Otherwise he'll be off again, real modern day fucking Houdini, this one," his anger was growing by the moment. He watched as the sergeant called an officer over and joined him to Keats by the cuffs. "I'm going to prepare for the interview, Simon concluded, "give me five minutes."

He pushed up his sleeves as he began climbing the stairs to CID. If he'd made it up the ones at Fenchurch West in a flash then these he managed at the speed of light. He found Alex and Robin waiting anxiously for his return.

"Si, what happened?" Robin asked.

"I got him," Simon said simply, marching through the office.

"Wh-you _did?"_ Robin frowned, "Wait, where are you going?"

Simon didn't seem to hear, or didn't respond at any rate. His blood was boiling and he just needed a moment.

"He... is he behaving… normally?" Alex asked.

"Define normal," Simon told her as he pushed open the door of Gene's office.

"Normal for Keats."

Simon glanced behind him.

"Vulgar, sarcastic, smug, - yeah, normal for Keats," he said as he raided the filing cabinet to find the scotch.

"Should you be doing that?" Robin asked.

Simon turned to him.

"I'm not getting pissed if that's what you're worried about," he said.

"No, I mean," he hesitated, "raiding Gene's scotch while he's gone AWOL? He's going to be pissed off when he gets back."

Simon took a swig from the bottle and gasped slightly as it took his breath away a little. He screwed the lid and put the bottle away.

"Let's just get him back first," he said, "I'll worry about that later,." He turned to Alex. "I need someone to come in on the interview with me," he said.

Alex found herself swallowing with nerves.

"You mean me," she said quietly. Simon nodded but Alex shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said quietly.

"Why not?"

"I'm too emotionally involved here, Simon," she said honestly, I can't guarantee I'll be professional. And then we could lose him for good. We have to make sure everything is done by the book."

"Leave the talking to me," Said Simon, "you won't have to say a word."

Alex shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Simon, it's not a good idea," she said, "and I don't think you should be interviewing him either."

"Why not?"

"You're as involved as I am," she said quietly.

Simon turned away. He didn't want to begin this conversation.

"I'll do the interview on my own then," he said.

"Oh come on, do you _really_ think that's a good idea?" cried Alex.

"Why not?" Simon demanded.

"Because you have too much history with him," Alex pointed out, "if the two of you are left alone in the interview room you'll either knock each other's brains out or –" she stopped talking rather abruptly.

"Or what?" Simon demanded.

Alex bit her lip.

"Or you'll end up _knocking something else out_ for him," she said, giving a signed demonstration that left Robin clutching his head and walking round in slightly distressed circles while Simon's jaw dropped at her bluntness.

"When did you become so crass?" he cried.

Alex felt her cheeks burn.

"I spent two months living with Kim , it's got to rub off a bit," she said apologetically.

Simon took a deep breath and shook his head slowly. He could understand why she was worried but he wasn't going to take any risks.

"Alex, I'm not going to lose us Keats," he said quietly, "I want nothing more than to see him rotting at the bottom of the crap-pile. I know how we have to do this – by the book. Get the charges to stick, get him sentenced, see his title taken away and therefore no more Mister Magic Man. No more disappearing through walls or off buildings. Keats is going to end up in a cell one way or another. But if there's any connection to Gene's disappearance then we have to know, and I'm sure I can get him to spill something."

"That's exactly what I was worried about," Alex did the mime again which sent Robin's head into a disturbed spin for a second time.

"Oh god, I don't want to hear this," he said, marching in circles with his hands over his ears.

Simon looked at Alex seriously.

"Trust me. I'm not going to mess this up, he said, "this is too important. In more ways than one."

Alex stared at him. Her fears remained but he was genuine and sincere and his determination was clear to see. Finally she gave a slow nod.

"Alright," she said, "alright, Simon,"

Simon looked at her seriously.

"If he knows _anything_ I'll find out," he said.

Alex nodded again.

"Make sure you do," she said quietly.

Simon nodded back and turned to leave. There was a strength and determination that Alex had never seen in him before. She felt a comforting hand on her arm and glanced behind her to where Robin stood, a sympathetic look on his face.

"Whatever he knows, Simon will prise from him," he said.

Alex looked at him worriedly.

"And what happens if he _doesn't_ know anything?" she asked quietly.

Robin looked down. He knew that was a possibility. It wasn't one he wanted to consider yet.

~xXx~

"_I want to stay with her."_

"_How long has it been since you went home? Three days? Four?"_

"_She's my fiancée, I need to say with her._

"_I'm not asking you to abandon her, Mister Thomas! I just think you need to go home for a few hours. Get some proper sleep. Get a good meal inside you. And have a shower."_

"_I can eat and sleep here."_

"_Well, yes, but…"_

"_But what?"_

"_A shower wouldn't be totally inadvisable, you know."_

"_What do you mean? Are you saying I smell?"_

"_No, no… not exactly…"_

"_You are!"_

"_Remember when the fire bell went last night? The false alarm?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_We found the cause. What set of the smoke alarm."_

"_What's that got to do with me?"_

"_It was your feet,"_

"…"

"_Mister Thomas?"_

"…"

"_Mister Thomas, you've gone a very interesting colour."_

"_Well so would you if you just found out you had radioactive feet!"_

"_I'm not trying to insult you. Honestly. But having someone you care about in ICU is hard and demanding and you need to keep your own strength up. Kim will need you to be as strong as possible for her. You can't do that if you're running on empty and setting off safety equipment with your feet."_

"_Shit… alright."_

"_Alright?"_

"_I'll go home and shower. I'll get something to eat and then I'll be back."_

"_Just take your time, we'll all make sure Kim is comfortable until you get back."_

"_Can I just go and tell her where I'll be."_

"_Of course."_

Bowing his head a little, Robin admitted defeat. He'd only be gone for a short while though, then be back by her side. And hopefully when he returned his feet would be safe to expose in public.

~xXx~

When Gene's eyes finally opened and his bleary-headed state recalled the little pill he'd been forced to take the night before he immediately felt a sense of panic.

"Bugger – me _plan,"_ he mumbled. He tried to focus on the clock. Shit, what was the time? It was nearing seven. Damnit, damnit, _damnit_. Why did he take the stupid pill? He should have tried harder to get out of it. What could the nurse have done if he'd refused?

Oh yeah: called Geoff.

Now he understood why he'd had no choice.

He shook his head slightly as he pulled himself upright, slowly shuffled to the edge of the bed then stepped slowly and carefully to the floor. The ground was cold against his bare feet but he didn't really care. Feeling the sensation of the cold, hard surface was strange in a way. It was one of those little things that made him think this just might be real. He recalled people who had arrived in his world marvelling at the little details – hearts beating, the sound of the wind in the trees – and now, the cold, hard floor beneath his feet.

He found himself sneaking out of the doorway and edging down the corridor. Walking was coming more easily now, although the effects of the sleeping pill were still making him feel a little woozy. The nurses were busy in conversation with one another about some mysterious bed pan theft that had occurred overnight so neither were paying attention and he managed to slip past their post unnoticed.

The ICU sign was where it was supposed to be and there were no long-necked creatures in his path. _Good_, that was the first step. He made his way along the corridor, slowly, one unsteady step at a time. There were visitors lurking outside of one room which he managed to bypass quickly with no one seeing his hairy backside and finally he made it down to Kim's room.

His pulse was through the roof as he stood outside, contemplating his next course of action. He took several deep breaths to calm himself down. This wasn't what he was used to; he was used to being the other side of the situation. He didn't know how to handle this. He supposed he would just have to get in there and then see what happened. If Robin recognised him then that would be the first step, and if not – well, he supposed he would raise the alarm and start screaming that there was some weirdo with his backside hanging out trespassing in his fiancée's hospital room

"Come on, Batman, you've got to know me," he mumbled, "I'm unforgettable."

Time to do this. Now or never.

He gave himself a mental countdown. _Three, two, one –_

Swallowing hard, he pushed the door open gently and stepped inside; mouth open and ready to announce tales of danger and doom, but all he found was Kim, sleeping in her bed. He stared around, his mouth still open, but there was no sign of Robin. What the bloody buggering hell…? Where _was_ he? He thought Robin would have stayed by her side the whole time, unless he needed a piss of course. Maybe that was it. Batman was on his toilet break.

He glanced at Kim and his stomach lurched.

"Oh bloody _hell_, Stringer," he mumbled as he took in the state of her, the myriad wires and sensors that dotted her torso; the machines that bleeped and blooped and regulated her body. In the middle of them lay Kim, her skin pure white and her features haggard and drawn. She looked so fragile, like she might just crumble if he prodded her.

It had been many months since he'd last seen her. Almost a year, in fact. Almost a year since she left his world a hero, saving a life in near exchange for her own. He shook his head as he tried to take in her terrible condition. Layton was unhinged. He knew he was a bit of a case, but this went above and beyond what the man seemed capable of.

"Your guts have got a death wish," he mumbled. It seemed that was the focal point for every miserable fate that had befallen her. Twice she'd been stabbed in the stomach and now she'd taken two bullets there. "You got a target painted on you?" he mumbled.

He thought of the last time he'd 'seen' Kim as she was now, in 2012, on Alex's tape. Watching her tearfully take a severe course of action to ensure Alex made it home was one of the hardest things Gene had ever had to watch. It still made him shudder to think of it. She had made the grandest gesture to help her friend. He didn't think he could ever find a way to thank her for that.

"I'd leave you me scotch by yer bed, but they won't give me any, bloody fascists," he said. Kim didn't stir. She didn't move; didn't awaken, didn't flutter an eyelid. She was out cold. Even since she'd regained consciousness she'd been in and out more times than Geoff in a loofah shop.

He shook his head angrily when he thought about the situation back in his own world; Robin stranded without her, never knowing how she coped after his death. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right – he'd watched Robin fight with every ounce of determination he had to get back to her and then Layton had stolen their future away from the very woman who had allowed Gene and Alex to have theirs back.

He froze as those thoughts travelled around his mind again and again and began to evolve. Here he was, in her hospital room with all the lifesaving equipment surrounding her. How long would it take to flip a switch or two? How much would it take to cut the cords that helped to keep her going? Would that be enough? Would that make her heart cease beating and stop her lungs from filling with oxygen? Would that –

What was he _thinking?_ He was giving serious thought to ending her _life?_ He couldn't believe the thought even entered his mind.

But through his head the image played again; Kim sobbing as she made sure that Alex had no breath left in her body s that her path home was insured. Who makes a sacrifice like that? How can _anyone_ –

He flinched as he found himself considering it. Had he been looking at this wrong? What if he wasn't here to save Robin, what if he was here to send Kim after him? How was he supposed to kow? How the fuck was he supposed to _know?_

In an instant a memory came back to him, crashing through his brain like a bulldozer. He felt a horrible sense of darkness swelling in his chest and his stomach turned over as he recalled Robin's words upon his return. The first time he'd been home in four days… the first time he'd been home, and Layton chose that moment –

He frantically scanned the room with his eyes, even though he knew full well Robin wasn't there. Shit, if he wasn't there… Oh god, it was time, wasn't it? He was too late to warn him, Layton was preparing to make a move and Robin -

"This is a stupid world and a bloody impossible bastard situation!" he yelled as he angrily kicked out at a machine with his bare foot and swore profusely as pain seared through his toes. A cord came out and the machine started bleeping furiously at him which in turn brought doctors and nurses towards the room.

"Oh buggering bastard alarms," he mumbled as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He'd done it now. He was going to get another shot in the arm and another evening of giraffe-filled dreams with no chance of getting to Robin before the scraggly-one took his revenge if he didn't act faster than Keats heading to a Ridgeley concert. It was escape time. If Layton could escape the hospital he was fairly bloody sure he could to.

He noticed Kim starting to shuffle. It was time to make a getaway before she fully awoke and saw him. So with one last glance in her direction he slipped from the room and made a beeline for the direction the little running man on the fire exit signs guided him in.

Back to Plan A then. Same plan, different location. Operation Save-A-Geek was officially in progress

Now he needed clothes, transport and a phone book to look up the address of a Mr R Thomas and Miss K Stringer.

He had none of those three, nor any money to acquire them.

"I'm buggered," he said.

And therefore so, surely, was Robin's chance of survival.


	12. Chapter 11: Keep Your Pants On

**Chapter 11**

Gene felt like a common criminal as he slipped out of the fire doors and legged it down the fire escape while the April breeze threatened to lift up his hospital gown and display his backside to half of Fenchurch. In truth, he'd done nothing wrong – aside from maybe mooning at as few people by accident – he wasn't a wanted criminal trying to make a break for it but with doctors on his case about his 'identity crisis' he knew that if he didn't escape with haste he'd be accosted and forced to either down another sleeping pill, listen to the psychologist drivelling away or receive the longest, most traumatic loofah-filled bed bath of his life. And he had a horrible feeling Geoff had purchased a new thrash metal album for the occasion, too.

As he moved as fast as his weakened frame would possibly let him down the fire escape his eyes took in the surroundings. The hospital hadn't changed a great deal since 1997 but the car park seemed to have been redesigned to better utilise the space. There were a few extra trees scattered around too, but he didn't think they were going to either help or hinder him so he ignored their lovely leafy goodness and just focused on getting out of the grounds. If he made it to the road he at least had a chance, as long as they hadn't moved the taxi rank.

An old woman who was tottering along and her bored-looking grandson froze and stared as he flew past, his limbs gathering strength and energy from his desperate situation.

"Yes, it's a bloody hospital gown," he barked at them, "you never watched _Casualty_ before?"

His bare feet stung and prickled against the tarmac where lose stones and leaves jabbed into his skin and the chilly spring air was getting into places that he really didn't wish to receive it, but worst of all was the feeling of abject humiliation. Where were his boots when he needed them? Not to mention the rest of his clothes.

He breathed a sigh of relief to reach the taxi rank safely as he yanked open the back door of the first taxi in the queue and jumped in.

"Woah, hang on a second there, mate," the driver frowned as he caught an unfortunate glimpse of unexpectedly hairy backside, "I know that's my rear view mirror but I didn't need a view of _your_ rear."

"I need yer help," Gene told him.

"No clothes, no ride," the driver told him.

"I'm a police officer."

"Show me your ID then."

"Does it _look_ like I've got anywhere to carry ID?" Gene cried, "look, you really want to argue with me on this one? A man's life it at stake."

"I'm sorry," the driver shrugged, "company policy. Besides, you look as if you've –"

Gene didn't pay attention to the rest of his rant as he caught a glimpse of a couple of nurses running in the direction of the taxi rank. _Bugger. Rumbled_.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

_Really_ fucking desperate measures.

"Listen, _pal,"_ Gene cried angrily, grabbing the driver by his shirt and almost pulling him into the backseat, "my name is Michael Kelman and I've been voted Traffic Warden of the Year three years running. If you do not see fit to put yer foot down I will issue you the biggest, baddest parking ticket you've ever seen in your sad, wretched excuse for a life and shove a penalty fare up yer backside. What's it to be?"

The driver gulped.

"Jesus, _fine_," he mumbled, "a '_please'_ would have sufficed!."

He started the car and pulled out a split-second before the nurses reached the taxi rank. Gene resisted the urge to make rude signs at them out of the back of the car and started instead to worry about where to go from there, and not just in a literal sense either. He had no idea where Robin lived, nor did he have any idea how to find out. And then there was the small matter of being in a rather breezy hospital gown.

"Where to then?" the driver asked.

Gene rubbed his forehead, which had started to throb quite suddenly.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said.

"If you don't tell me where you want to go then I'll have to go back for a new fare," the driver told him.

"I need to find an address," Gene told him.

"A dress?" the taxi driver paid minimal attention to what Gene was saying, "well, I suppose _anything_ is better than that bloody gown."

"Do you _want_ to wear a steering wheel round yer neck?" Gene threatened angrily, "because that's the way you're going." He paused as he took a deep breath, "I need to find an address. Can you take me somewhere with a phone book?"

"A _phone_ book?" the driver laughed quite loudly, "that's one of those things you use to prop up a wobbly table leg, right?" Gene's expression told the driver this wasn't a good time for jokes. "Look, mate, _I_ don't know, no one uses them anymore."

"Then how d'you find out where someone bunks down at night?" Gene demanded.

The driver shrugged.

"Look it up online."

"_Onwhere?"_

"You got a phone, mate?"

Gene was on the verge of taxi-related murder.

"If I don't have anywhere to keep me ID then where am I going to keep a phone?" he demanded, "up my backside? In my right ear?"

"No need to be rude," the driver said crossly, "just thought you could look it up there. You'll have to get yourself to a computer then."

"And where," Gene began through gritted teeth, "do you think I can find one of _those_ at this hour of the morning?"

"Try the library," the driver told him, "but they probably have a similar policy to me on wearing pants."

Gene gave a low growl of frustration under his breath.

"Well where am I going to find some?" he muttered.

"You want to go shopping first?" the driver asked.

"_Great_ idea," cried Gene, "suggest it again when I've got some money."

The taxi driver slammed his foot on the brake and turned around to Gene in anger as he fell forward, receiving a severe lesson in the importance of seatbelts.

"You could have told me you had no money before I started driving you to god knows where!" he cried

"Well I _would_ have done," Gene told him, "but I suspected that declaration would have ended up with me thrown out on the road!"

"Too right."

"And anyway," Gene cried, "You can _see_ I've no sodding pockets! Where was I going to keep me money?"

"Hopefully not the same place you suggested for your phone," the driver gagged. He stared at Gene as he began to panic that his ride was over and suddenly something slotted into place in his memory, "wait a minute… I know you."

Gene hesitated. Where exactly did he know him from?

_Please don't say I gave this twat a parking ticket_, he thought to himself.

"Oh yeah?" he asked incredulously.

The driver nodded.

"Local hero in the making, you are," he said.

Gene hesitated, pursing his lips slightly.

"I am, am I?" he asked.

The driver nodded.

"Tried to help those women on that boat," he said, "Yeah, I know you now! Saw you all over the news." To Gene's surprise but relief the driver started the engine and began to drive away again, "Free ride is the least I can do."

Gene pulled his mouth into a straight line.

"I should think so too," he said.

"And it wasn't your fault," the driver continued.

Gene frowned.

"What wasn't?"

"_You_ weren't to know that gun was going to go off," the driver continued., almost oblivious to Gene's bewilderment, "you mustn't blame yourself."

"For… _what_… exactly?" Gene asked, gritting his teeth.

The taxi driver glanced back at him.

"What?"

"Me memory is a bit on the hazy side," Gene told him, "so what do I need to not blame myself for?"

The driver was starting to worry about the mental state of his passenger, hero or otherwise. She decided to ignore his question and said instead,

"Look, I don't mean to stick my nose in where it's not wanted but what _are_ you doing wandering the streets in a hospital smock?"

"I'm not wandering the streets, I am taking a taxi," Gene told him huffily.

"Fine, why did you get in my cab with your backside on display?"

Gene stared ahead.

"It's an emergency," he said bluntly, "didn't have time to get any clothes brought in. Just had to go."

The driver was starting to feel fairly sorry for Gene – no phone, no money, nothing to cover his modesty and the belief that anyone still used a phone book. He sighed and made him an offer.

"Look, it's probably not ideal," he began, "but there's a spare pair of trousers in the back of the car. If you want them, they're yours."

Gene frowned, the offer had been unexpected. After the strange conversation they'd been having he would have been far less surprised if he'd called the police. _Or_ the men in white coats, for that matter.

"Trousers would be much appreciated," Gene told him.

The driver pulled into a side road and stepped out of the taxi to fetch the trousers from the boot. Gene sat there in the back feeling more confused than ever. He tried to work out how he'd gotten to where he was now and what the hell he was supposed to do next but the last half an hour or so was an absolute blur. As the driver climbed back in and threw a pair of trousers into the back seat Gene had to ask;

"Not that I'm ungrateful you understand, but why have you got spare pants in yer boot?"

"Friday nights," the driver told him as he tried not to notice Gene's attempt at struggling into the trousers without exposing parts of him that far too many people had encountered that day already, "people _get_ pissed, then piss _themselves_. I carry a spare pair, offer to sell them to the wet trouser brigade, charge a bloody fortune, make more from the trousers than I do from actually driving."

Gene couldn't fault that logic.

He managed to shuffle into the trousers with some difficulty and fastened them, tucking the rest of his hospital gown into the top. The driver was right, it _wasn't_ ideal but now he just looked like he owned a really crappy shirt with _Property of NHS_ printed all over it.

"So," the driver asked as he began to drive again, "what's the big emergency? _Really_ badly parked car or something?"

"Something like that," mumbled Gene. He felt his adrenalin building. He knew he was against the clock. He knew that he didn't have long and the odds were stacked against him. But an understanding taxi driver and a spare pair of pants had been most unexpected. Could anything else fall unto place too?

"This, err, _computer_ thing," he cleared his throat, "digital phonebook bollocks. How would someone get that to work then?"

"What are you, a technophobe?" Frowned the driver, "just Google it."

Gene frowned.

"_Google_ it. Right." He was fairly sure there was no such thing as a Google and the driver was just taking the piss so he decided to quit while he was ahead and ask no further questions.

Eventually the taxi pulled up outside the library.

"Well," he addressed Gene a little like he'd just had a celebrity in the back of his taxi, "it was nice to meet you, pleasure to drive a have-a-go-hero."

Gene opened the door.

"Nothing _have-a-go_ about me," he told he driver, "I'm the real deal."

With that he climbed out of the car and made his way into the library as fast as his still-weakened limbs would allow. He had a renewed belief in human kindness and a fresh appreciation for the eighth wonder of the world; the humble trouser. But time was pressing on and he was still a long way from tracking Robin down.

It was time to find out whether Googles or goggles or whatever the hell they were knew Batman's address.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Sorry for the shortish chapter, it was originally supposed to be longer but I cut it into two since I was having difficulty concentrating as I kept getting *distracted!* More tomorrow, brain permitting (such as it is!)**_


	13. Chapter 12: Like This Video

**Chapter 12**

The man at the information desk looked up as a large shadow loomed over him. He found a rather cross and determined man who, according to his shirt, was property of the NHS.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?" he smiled politely.

"I _very much_ hope you can," Gene couldn't resist a dig at the over-cheerful demeanour of the man, "I am looking for a computer on which to view some goggles."

"Right," the man frowned a little but decided it was best not to ask. He was used to all sorts coming in and asking for things he couldn't understand, even those claiming to need a computer to use because their keyboard at home had sunburn and kept screaming every time they typed a letter. He stood up and left the shelter of his desk to approach Gene, "_what_ do you need the computer for? Email? Word processing? Image manipulation?"

"I'll be manipulating me fist into yer brain in a minute," Gene stated, "I told you, I need it for me goggles."

"You want to buy some goggles?"

"You're going to be needing goggles to protect you from the flurry of books that are going to fly in your direction if you don't get me to a computer," Gene threatened, keeping an eye on the clock and feeling a horrible churning in his guts when he realised how much time had already ticked away.

The man decided to give up on Gene. It was too early to get this much hassle from a man whose trousers were two inches too short and whose torso was a matter of national health. He pointed Gene to a computer and said,

"There. First twenty minutes are free. If you want more time then it's three quid for every fifteen minutes."

"Three bloody _quid?"_ cried Gene, "this internet… pumps gold out yer floppy drive these days, does it?"

The man frowned.

"What's a floppy?" he asked.

Gene bunched up his fist.

"You, when you're lying on the ground, having sweet dreams," he threatened. He watched the man began to move nervously away but at the last minute called him back. _"Oi."_

The man hesitated. He really didn't want to share any further dialogue with this angry gentleman, but he was already on a warning for building a fort out of encyclopaedias the week before so he didn't want to get in any more trouble.

"Something else I can help you with?" he sighed.

"Yeah," said Gene, "How do I goggle an address."

"A dress?"

"If one more person tries putting me in some low-backed, frilly froufrou bollocks today they're going to be sporting a pair of very fashionable black eyes!" cried Gene, "how do I find an address?"

"A web address?"

"No, I'm looking for Batman, not Spiderman."

The man's head began to really hurt.

"Can you tell me _exactly_ what you're looking for?" he begged.

Gene flopped heavily into the chair.

"A bloody address!" cried Gene, "I just need to find out where two members of opposing sides of the Rainbow Brigade have shacked up!"

"You mean a _home_ address?"

"Ridgeley have mercy on my soul, yes, a home address!" Gene almost went into meltdown, "now tell me where I can find the right goggles to see the damn thing before someone loses his life!"

The man's blood was really boiling, he'd had enough of Gene and enough of his attitude. He couldn't handle another minute of his verbal diarrhoea, so with a momentary glare he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and carefully wrote down an address.

"Here," he said, "I'm sure this will bring you all the information you need, and _so_ much more."

He left the paper on the keyboard and then rushed back to the desk, gathering his coat along the way and yelling _"I quit!"_ as he ran past the admin office. No job was worth that kind of torture.

Gene shook his head as he watched the man leave.

"People in two thousand and bollocks," he sighed, "you breathe on them and they fall over. No wonder all me new recruits have been such a bunch of weeds." He picked up the paper and stared at the web address written across it, an address the man had clearly learned carefully a long time ago for just such an occasion. With extremely slow typing, Gene's fingers eventually tapped out the letters and numbers he'd been left and prepared for the information he needed to grace his screen.

He wasn't completely sure how Rick Astley was supposed to help him find Robin.

He didn't understand what use Never Gonna Give You Up was in the grand scheme of things.

He had no sodding idea what _that_ had to do with goggles or addresses or anything.

All he knew was that, for some inexplicable reason, he felt his blood boiling.

"What… the bloody hell… is a _Rickroll?_ "he demanded as he began to scroll through the comments on the screen, "and what the bloody hell is a YouTube? And why am I _still looking at Rick bloody Astley?_

As his voice rose he heard snickering from all around him as people spotted the twat who'd been Rickrolled in the middle of a public place.

"Ha ha, _suckered_!" one youth dared to comment, despite the glare she received a moment later, sending her from the library at speed.

Gene angrily turned back to the computer, desperately trying to get rid of Rick Astley from the screen. He wasn't the best with computers back in his _own_ time when the most he had to do was to open up vaguely pornographic pictures that Alex had sent, so the 2012 version of the equipment he already tried to avoid wasn't exactly Gene-friendly. He found himself clicking on things at random, determined to shut the video down, but to his extreme horror a petrifyingly brightly coloured cat began flying on the monitor.

"This is explaining more and more about the Shoeburys and the Batmans of me world with every passing moment," he said angrily as he felt increasingly sure that the cat was giving him the evil eye. Nyan Cat? Nyan _fist_, more like, he thought to himself as he wondered whether technology had reached a point where you could deliver physical pain over the internet.

He was getting desperate now. Time was moving on and not only was the deadly hour arriving for Robin but he'd used up half his allotted free minutes swearing at Rick Astley and wanting to kill an animated cat.

He found himself clicking on things at random. Anything that looked sensible. Anything that wasn't going to cause him to want to murder pieces of animation. But even then he found that the human population had the capacity to terrify him with their ability to turn _anything_ from something sensible or mundane into either trolling material or something to get hot under the collar about. He lost his final dregs of faith in the human race when he accidentally loaded up a video of a tornado siren and the top comment was; "_EXCELLENT VIDEO! That is one awesome siren *fap fap fap*..."_

"Think me head is going to explode," he mumbled painfully as the other comments seemed to suggest that people were 'exploding' over tornado sirens and all sorts. He scrolled down, his horror growing with every moment at comments such as; _"OMG, tornadoes X sirens = OTP!111!one!11"_ – it was just too much to take.

He shuddered as he discovered that, in the YouTube generation, absolutely anything and everything was potential _fapping_ material for somebody out there. Shoes, make-up, sneezing, buttons, model aeroplanes, people standing on biros, exploding Coke cans, the peeling of random bananas, road works, hair-cutting, envelope-licking, burning buildings, rumbling stomachs – you name it; the list went on.

He wasn't sure he would ever get over reading the comment; _"The application of the glue at 1.08 – WOAH MOMMA!"_ on an otherwise innocuous video of someone assembling an airfix plane.

Then just when he thought he'd seen humanity reach its lowers point, there it was;

There, on the list of videos at the side of the screen, one caught his eye.

"_My Nick Nailer Cut-Out – Uploaded by user DIMarch2011"_

"That's it!" Gene cried, "I want to go home! I'll buy a pair of ruby bloody slippers if I 'ave to!"

He thumped the keyboard and accidentally pressed _something_ because the terrifying videos disappeared and a different page loaded in their place.

_Google_, it said.

Gene looked a little sheepish.

"Ahh," he mumbled to himself, "I think I might have made a slight error in me handling of the situation…"

He wasn't exactly _at one_ with technology, but he had enough common sense to work out what to do. He searched for '_how to find the address of someone when you don't know where they live and you've travelled to the future'_, which wasn't really that helpful so he searched for '_how to find an address'_ instead and one site led to another to another and finally, just before his time ran out, there it was before him. His goal;

_Mr R. Thomas & Ms. K. Stringer_

"Bloody found it," he mumbled grabbing the paper and pen that the library man had used earlier to scribble down the details on the back of the Rickroll.

So that was it; he had it now. He had an address, _and_ pants, for that matter. Those were two of his issues dealt with.

What remained now was to find the place, to hope he'd get there before Layton and then – the biggie – to attempt the impossible and change what happened.

Rick Astley, siren-fappers and bastard animated cats hadn'ty stopped him, so he was confident that nothing else could either. The final part of his task was about to get underway and, as he got to his feet and rushed from the library with _Never Gonna Give You Up_ playing repeatedly through his mind, he focused on one thought – home was only as far away as the address he held in his hand.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: I would like to think I might be the first person ever to Rickroll Gene Hunt. I REGRET NOTHING! I thought a silly, frivolous chapter was well deserved because from tomorrow onwards things become a *lot* more serious. Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed and put this story on alert, I really appreciate you sticking with it through its bewildering start, especially as things will begin to make some semblance of sense soon!**_

_**Gene hates Nyan Cat = CANON!**_


	14. Chapter 13: My Conscience

**Chapter 13**

He should have asked the damn driver to wait for him. Why _didn't_ he? Oh yeah, it might have had something to do with the fact that he had no money and had already been pushing his luck with the ride to the library. But as he emerged from the building, address in hand, Gene found himself at a loss for what to do next. He stared at the name of the building and the road. It meant nothing to him at all. Well, why would it? The place hadn't even been built in 1997. Even the road didn't exist.

He realised he still had the pen from the library. That was the second pen he seemed to have pocketed since he arrived in whatever world this was. He was going to have enough for a stationery shop by the time he went home. Shoving the pen and the paper in the pocket of his unexpected pants he scanned the street. There were various shops nearby, some offices, everything you'd expect to find but certainly no clue to where he needed to go.

One of the shops across the road caught his attention. It was a bookshop, just a normal, run-of-the-mill bookshop with a picture of someone pretending to read while giving a thumb's up sign in the window. Somewhere next to it was a sign; "Coming Soon: Kindle, £89".

"Must be the biggest bloody book in the world," Gene mumbled as he snubbed the location of the traffic lights to cross the road at a dangerous spot. The cars beeped at him but he ignored them for all he was worth. As long as they didn't hit him he didn't really care if he pissed them off. And who would dare to hit a man who was property of the NHS?

He walked into the shop, eyes scanning the vast array of books around him; shelves of them, tables of them… he was sure he even saw one hanging from the ceiling.

"Can I help you?"

Gene was startled by the voice. He looked around to see a woman with a name badge saying _'Hi my name is KATIE and I love to read HORROR books'_

"What?" he tried to get his mind on track and stop staring at strange books hanging from above.

"You look a little lost, sir." Katie told him.

Gene found himself sighing.

"Too bloody right I am," he said, "which is why I need to show me where to find yer A to Zs."

"Pardon?"

"London A to Z," Gene explained, "where are they?"

"_Ohh,"_ Katie smiled as she finally understood, "Just over here. Follow me."

She led Gene right through the shop to a mezzanine level where there were all manner of travel and transport books including road maps, A to Zs and lots of atlases. She pointed him to the general area and left him to find what he was looking for.

He flicked to the index at the back of the A to Z and looked up the road where Robin's flat stood. He felt his pulse racing. His eyes rose to the clock on the wall. Shit, he was running out of time, he was sure of it. He knew what time Robin was pronounced dead, but also knew that didn't include the time they took trying to resuscitate him, the gap between the shooting and the ambulance crew arriving or how long it took the neighbour to call for help. He wasn't sure how long he had but it was never going to be long enough for his comfort.

There it was. He had a page number to look at now. He skipped back through the book quickly until he found it and he tried to scan the surrounding area for something familiar. He closed his eyes as he spotted something that really helped him on his way.

_Public library._

"_You are here,"_ he mumbled to himself as he glanced around guiltily, pulled the pen from his pocket and began to draw out the route to Robin's quickly on his inner arm. He hoped he wasn't going to get confused and mistake veins for roads, or the odd mole or freckle for a bus stop or a train station. His eyes rose every few moments. He was starting to garner some curious looks from the public. As long as the staff hadn't seen yet then he was more or less OK for another few moments, but he knew he wouldn't be for long.

He drew in the last of the important roads and labelled one or two, then drew an 'X' where Robin's home was supposed to be and wrote '_Nerd house'_ beside it.

"Excuse me?"

Foiled. Rumbled again. He knew he'd been found out and looked up to see a very angry, large woman with hairy legs glaring at him. For just a moment Gene could almost picture her holding a loofah.

"Err… you don't have a brother called Geoff, I suppose?" he asked.

"_You_ don't have a _death wish_, I suppose?" the woman asked him, "get out my shop, you freaky map-fapping weirdo!"

"I'm a _what?"_ Gene demanded. He was about to angrily inform her that he was not a part of the stupid Fapping YouTube Generation when he noticed his flies were open and _Little Gene_ was on display. _Stupid cocking borrowed trousers and their stupid non-working zip!_ He supposed it didn't matter, he wasn't planning to hang around. But he would at least have liked to preserve one piece of his dignity. Since he'd failed on that count, there was only one thing left to do.

Jamming the pen up Mrs Geoff's nostril, he ran as fast as his still-bare feet would carry him and crossed back to the library, avoiding cars with each step like some kind of traffic miracle. Or traffic _nightmare_, he wasn't too sure on that one.

He stared at his arm and then looked at the roads around him and finally saw a name he recognised from the A-Z. That was the one. That was the way to go. He felt nauseous with nerves and anticipation as he began to move as fast as he possibly could in the direction that the lines on his arm showed him. Time was running out but the clock hadn't struck its final hour yet. He was going to make it. He _had_ to make it. This time, Robin was _not going to die_.

~xXx~

Water cascaded down his face and dripped to his body as he stood beneath the running shower, begging silently for the hot water to wash his tears away.

His unborn baby was dead.

His fiancée's life still hung in the balance.

He didn't know how either he or she were supposed to recover from this.

The water did nothing to take away his devastation, to soothe his grief or to sate the anger that was building inside of him. He didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know how to cope with any part of the heart-breaking situation he found himself trapped within.

As he switched off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself on the way, he had the foolish thought that life couldn't possibly get any worse.

~xXx~

He'd been waiting for this moment. Ever since he's watched Robin's eyes open and foil his plan in the hospital he'd been waiting for another opportunity to take his life away from him. He still wasn't completely sure of _why_, but the voices in his head had been growing stronger and more vocal on that matter. They'd forced and goaded him until he fired those shots into Kim's abdomen, taking down the painted lady whose presence over his trial, should it ever happen, would stand him in good stead of being locked away for the rest of his life. And now here he was, about to do the same to the man who stood by her side in more ways than one.

It almost didn't make sense to Layton why he was still pursuing him. Surely staying hidden and not getting arrested again was better than killing off the witnesses and putting himself at risk of getting caught. But that's what his head told him to do so that's what he planned.

He felt for the outline of the gun against his clothes. It was all ready and waiting for him to put it to good use. His eyes travelled to the building in front of him. It wasn't going to take long to force his way in. he'd be in and out in five minutes, job done, situation over – and then perhaps the voices would let him be for a while.

~xXx~

Robin sank down heavily onto the sofa. He stared at the TV even though he couldn't have cared less what was on. An almost full bowl of cereal sat on the coffee table, where two token spoonfuls had been consumed. The rest would be going to waste, but he'd known that from the moment he poured it out. He wasn't hungry. He had no appetite. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten. All he'd had since the call about Kim was coffee and ibuprofen for the headache that constantly thumped away in his skull.

He felt numb from head to toe. His life wasn't supposed to be like this, he'd fought tooth and nail to get home and that's when things were supposed to be alright. _Happy ever after._ Fairytale stuff, except with more tattoos and fewer gingerbread houses.

He heard the scrambling sound in the lock. And on some level, he knew.

He already knew.

~xXx~

Gene stared at his arm one last time to check he was on the right path as he turned the corner. He couldn't believe he'd actually made it all the way. Between his body still feeling somewhat weak, his bare feet that found every rough stone and piece of dog poo on the way and the rapidly vanishing map that his perspiration was starting to destroy little by little it seemed that the odds were stacked further against him than ever, but suddenly there he was.

_That_ was the building. It was right there, in front of him.

He didn't know if he was too late. He didn't know if Layton was there already or if he was about to make an appearance, but still he'd made it despite everything, and surely that had to be fate.

He felt his stomach do a 360 degree turn as a familiar vehicle caught his eye. There in Kim's parking space was a familiar yellow Fiat. For just a moment he was almost convened that the _car_ was the thing he was there to rescue and almost tried to get inside but then he realised it was Robin instead of the fiat that needed some help.

Besides, the car seemed to have found a new owner now.

"I'll make you a deal, Stringer," he muttered to himself as he moved towards the building, "You look after me car and I'll try to make sure your other half survives."

His insides lurched as he found the downstairs door forced; the wood splintered around its bolts and the green door swinging loosely on its hinges.

"Oh _hell_," he mumbled as he stepped inside. Shit, _now_ what? What floor? He hadn't even _thought_ about that. Why did this have to be even more complicated and difficult than it already was? All he wanted to do was to save a life and change the past. That wasn't too much to ask was it? He poked his head into the ground floor, scanning the numbers on the doors. _Not there_. Better try the next floor, he thought to himself as _Never Gonna Give You Up_ played through his head again.

_Great_. Now he even Rickrolling himself.

He moved up to the next level but his legs were truly aching by now. They felt as heavy as lead and he couldn't imagine being able to force himself up another flight, but unfortunately he had to – there was no sign of Robin's flat on _that_ level and he needed to go up one more. His hands gripped the banister and helped him to move upwards, taking some of the pressure from his failing legs. They'd had to work too hard and to take him too far, he couldn't force them to move on their own and needed any bit of help that he could get.

Gene forced himself up, up, upwards; little by little, one step at a time. Somehow he managed to make it to the top of the next staircase and staggered into the corridor. His breathing was growing laboured now and his head was starting to spin. There was a reason he hadn't been allowed out of bed much, he supposed. But then again, the hospital were unaware that he had history to change.

He begged and pleaded silently for _this_ to be the floor, for Robin to reside on that level, for no more stairs to get in his way of saving the man's life and for once his silent prayer was heard - but with the sight of his door open a crack he could tell that his _second_ prayer was not.

"_Shit,"_ he muttered. He could be too late… it might already be too late and he had no idea what he would find when he went into that flat, aside from possible Red Dwarf memorabilia, that is.

His dire situation started to sink in as he realised that in his desperation to find Robin he had given no thought to what to do when he arrived. It would have been hard enough to know what to do if he'd arrived with no sighs of Layton's presence and simply had to find a way to convince Robin of the danger he was in, but with the broken door downstairs _and_ the one to Robin's flat open a small way he couldn't fight the feeling that he should have thought things through a little better.

There was no time for that now, and if anyone could step into a situation like this and still get a result it was the Gene Genie. All his years of training and experience had taught him the best way to deal with just about any circumstance, with the possible exception of people getting hot under the collar about siren videos. At the very least, he supposed, he could make a total fool of himself and throw himself between Robin and Layton as a human shield. After all, he was more or less indestructible.

Wasn't he? Actually, he wasn't all that sure. He knew where he stood in his own world but he still had no idea what strange layer of reality he'd found himself trapped within.

And he didn't even know what state he was going to find Robin in when he went inside.

He paused behind the door, wishing he had a gun, or a knife, or a big stick or _anything_. Even that _pen_ would have been better than nothing but it was currently residing up _Mrs Geoff's_ nose. Taking a deep breath, he stopped to listen. He could hear voices but he wasn't altogether certain whose. It could have been the TV, he supposed. For the first time he felt glad not to be wearing shoes as he took a couple of soft and silent steps inside. No one was going to hear him as long as he stayed light on his feet. He found himself momentarily distracted by a photograph of a less funky Robin and a dark-haired Kim from an anti-beard ceremony not long after they met but just about managed to refrain from screaming and continued his slow walk down the hall. He could hear the voices more clearly now and they definitely weren't coming from the television.

"…_but it's more than that now…"_

He froze. That was Layton. He knew that voice, only too well.

"…_It's personal now. Doesn't matter what I… stop looking at me!"_

"_Stop trying to kill me then!"_

Gene hesitantly peered through the crack of the door, Layton just inches away; jabbering, scratching, shaking on the spot.

"_Turn your head!"_ he spat, _"I don't want to see your eyes!"_

Gene felt his hear thumping at an ever-increasing speed as Robin turned his head.

"_OK, OK."_

"_It's not about the trial now. They want me to kill you. They want you to die."_

"_Who does?"_

"_They're in my head. I can hear them. Voices."_

"_You don't have to listen to them... You're the one in control."_

"_Not any more. They hate you."_

"_And what about you? You hate me too?"_

"_I don't have a lot of choice, do I?"_

"_Listen to me; the voices can leave you alone if you stop this, turn yourself in and ask for help."_

"_You're the one who needs help!"_

Click.

The click of the gun as Layton prepared to fire spurred Gene into action. It set off the instinct inside of him that fired him up. Layton was a crazy man, and whatever had caused him to become so twisted - the drugs or the pressure of his life - he was all that stood between Gene and home. He heard Robin cry out one time for help and his instinct took over as he forced himself to storm the room with the last drop of energy he had left in his body. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Robin closing _his;_ certain that bullets were about to fly in his direction. He refused to see the moment that his life was going to end.

"Guess what, Layton?" Gene hissed, "Help's arrived."

Even as he spoke he was halfway through a leap towards him. He launched at the man and grasped his hands which seemed to develop a mind of their own, twisting and turning and pointing the gun in every direction imaginable.

"Get _out!"_ Layton yelled.

"Give me the fucking gun!" Gene rarely used the F-word but there seemed few words that were more appropriate as his fury gave him an extra burst of strength. He realised right there and then just how much damage Layton had caused through his life and yet somehow slipped under the radar. He'd shot Alex, he'd shot Kim, he'd shot Robin and that was to say nothing of what he did in the past. He could still picture the car exploding; Alex's parents blown sky high. That only added to his fury as he wrestled the man to the ground, blocking out the pain as Layton clamped his jaws around Gene's wrist and bit him hard.

"You giving me _rabies_ now?" he yelled, "just give me the bloody _gun!"_

Gene slammed his foot hard into Layton's stomach which winded him and left him in a state of shock. His grip on the gun loosened enough for Gene to grab it and take a firm hold of it.

But what happened next, he couldn't quite understand nor explain.

He remembered slipping his finger into the trigger. He remembered preparing to aim the weapon at Layton and take him down once and for all. But Layton recovered quickly from the foot in his belly and had more strength than Gene realised. The crazed man grabbed for him and pulled him over, and Gene had no idea how come his finger closed tightly around the trigger and squeezed it. The blast of the gun knocked Gene backwards, still weak and exhausted, and it took a moment for him to clock what had happened. In fact, it wasn't until Layton started swearing and scrambling to his feet that Gene realised something serious had occurred.

He finally looked away from Layton to focus on the body which had fallen to the ground; red liquid pouring from the wound in his head as the bullet found its new home deep in his brain.

"_Oh hell –"_ Gene felt his heart stop. It literally missed a beat. He felt bile forcing itself into his throat and he gagged to keep it back. Layton fled the room with a trail of expletives following him, and Gene couldn't have given a damn that he'd escaped yet again because the only thing he could see was Robin's body and the growing pool of red beneath it. "Shit, _no_… _Robin,_" so shocked that he used his name, Gene scrambled to his side and stared in horror, his mouth slightly open as though desperately trying to speak but no sound emerged. He tried to feel for a pulse before he realised he had no idea what he was doing. He tried checking for breathing but it seemed that Robin had decided not to indulge in the luxury of air any longer . He stared at the gun that had fallen from his hands. He wasn't supposed to be the one who pulled the trigger, he was _sure_ of it. Robin had told them _everything_, Layton had fired in a crazed state and filled him with bullets.

"This isn't how it bloody _happened!"_ Gene screamed at the top of his lungs as he tried to rouse Robin, shaking him fruitlessly, "come _on_, Batman, you've got to bloody make it, I was counting on you –" but he could tell it was already too late. The single shot he'd fired had done what the barrage of bullets Layton sank into him had done.

He'd killed Robin. _Gene_ had killed _Robin_.

"_This isn't how it was supposed to happen!"_ he cried as a desperate attempt at first aid that he didn't even know how to do followed his scream and he realised something; he _had_ changed the past, just in the most awful, devastatingly horrific way.

He panicked for a moment, not knowing what the hell to do. If the rest of the events still took place as Robin described then the police and ambulance would be on their way. He stared at his hands which were already smeared with the rich red of Robin's blood. What the hell was he supposed to _do?_ He'd just killed _Robin_. Robin; police chief inspector in charge of the canine unit both in 2012 and 1997. Robin; Alex's good friend, Simon's ex, Kim's fiancé…

He'd killed a man who had a vibrant life that he'd fought so hard to reclaim. Now he couldn't handle he feeling of devastating guilt that filled him from head to toe.

Shit –

_Sirens_.

Police ones, not tornado ones.

He stared at Robin's body. He'd already failed in the most hideous way, what was he to do now? Was he supposed to stay there or flee the scene?

Spending the rest of his life in a cell for a murder that should have been committed by somebody else was _not_ an option. Locking him away would insure he'd never make it home, and he needed to. He needed Alex. He had to get back. There was only one option left.

He took flight. He ran. The adrenalin in his body gave him the energy to carry him out of the flat and down two flights of stairs. Splattered with blood, pulse sky-high and burning bile in his guts, he fled the building and ran from the car park as fast as his legs would allow, where he found himself unable to rein in his speed and rushed straight into the road as one of the screaming police cars struck him with a terrifying force and sent his body up into the air, spinning and flipping before he crashed back to the bonnet and rolled to the hard tarmac below it.

He didn't hear the screeching of tyres or the shouts and cries from officers and passers by. He didn't hear the footsteps that ran to him, checking his pulse and his breathing just as he'd tried to do for Robin moments earlier. He didn't hear the traffic or the birds or the wind in the trees. There was darkness and silence as his mind and body shut down and he succumbed to his injuries.

Lights out.

~xXx~

What was that pain? It seemed to stretch through his whole body.

He could't remember much. In fact, he wasn't even sure who he was.

He was a traffic wa- _no wait,_ he wasn't. He was Gene Hunt. DCI Gene Hunt; the Manc Lion, head of Fenchurch East CID and he'd just been through…

Well, one of the worst things he'd ever experienced.

The memory came crashing down on him. _Robin; the wound in his forehead, the gun, the accidental shot…_

He'd killed a man.

He'd killed Robin.

And now he was going to have to pay the price.

He slowly opened one eye. There was a nurse but she was in the process of leaving the room. He was all by himself. Well, that was _something_, he supposed. He blinked a few times and tried to acclimatise to his surroundings. He was in a hospital room but it wasn't on ICU this time.

To one side of him was a large fruit basket, a cheesy teddy bear with _'I Wuv U' _emblazoned across its T-shirt and a bunch of helium balloons saying '_Get Well Soon'_ on each one. To the other were several get well cards, a bunch of grapes and a newspaper. He checked his arms – no cuffs, and no coppers on the door. Had they not realised who was responsible for Robin's death? How could they fail to make the connection?

He tried to sit up. He remembered the car that struck him. Surely his injuries should have been more severe than that? How was he even able to move? Why were none of his bones broken?

He checked his wrists and found a hospital identification bracelet there but it was neither in his own name, nor in the name of Michael Kelman.

_George Keene,_ it said.

"_Now_ what the bloody hell is going on?" he mumbled. This made even less sense than the _first_ time he awoke.

His eyes turned to the newspaper on the cabinet beside him and something disturbing caught his eye, making his stomach churn as he took it in. He swallowed very, _very_ hard indeed and felt a surge of fear travel through his body.

"No," he muttered to himself, "that doesn't make any sense. This makes less bloody sense than that arse-faced cat flying across me screen or fapping over squashed biros."

He shook his head as he tried to take his discovery in. It twisted his mind right round and he really didn't know how to deal with the latest turn of events.

He'd hoped he would wake up back home in 1997.

He hadn't.

He'd expected to find himself in trouble in 2012.

He wasn't.

The date on the paper filled him with a dark anxiety that wasn't going to go anywhere in a hurry.

_16th October 2010_

Somewhere along the line a couple of years had disappeared, and suddenly he felt himself further away from both home and the answers he needed than ever before

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Aaaaaaand now the story really begins… **_

_**Morgana, I'm sending Geoff's sister back to you via first class post!**_


	15. Chapter 14: Not That Road

**Chapter 14**

Simon aimed his glare on Keats as he walked slowly towards him. He had a fixed smile on his face which only served to make Simon angrier.

"Good evening, Simon," he said, tilting his head slightly to one side, "this is going to be interesting."

"I expect it is," Simon said through gritted teeth as he sat down opposite.

"Oh dear," Keats began to twitch a little but managed to get it under control, "what's the matter? Couldn't you find anyone to come in on the interview with you?"

"I don't need anyone else for this interview," Simon told him.

"You don't?" Keats raised an eyebrow, "it's just, you know what happens when we're alone together. We'll either end up knocking each other's brains out, or –" his smile grew, "you'll end up knocking something _else_ out for me."

Simon froze and stared at him, the words so familiar from his conversation with Alex just moments before. He stared at Keats incredulously. Why exactly had he spoken those words? It made him shudder a little. He'd spoken almost word for word Alex's thoughts. He swallowed and tried hard to ignore it, instead reaching for the tape recorder and pressing record. He worked his way through all the required specifics, his name, Keats's name, the date and the time - but Keats's smile never flickered.

"I don't see what good this is going to do," Keats told him.

"Where's Gene?" Simon said bluntly.

"Who?" Keats smiled.

"He disappeared the same time you let yourself out," Simon spat.

Keats examined his fingernails.

"I believe I was brought in for questioning over _terribly _false allegations made regarding my treatment of my previous DI," he sighed, "not to do with some ancient relic who happens to have gone walkabout.

"Don't play games with me," Simon stared at him coldly, "Where is he?"

"Oh, it's so sweet,," Keats smiled broadly, "_so_worried about your daddy. How you've bonded." He watched Simon begin to angrily lunge forward but he nodded towards the machine on the table. "I'd be careful if I were you, Simon," he said, "Don't forget everything has to be done by the book. Or you could lose me forever."

Simon narrowed his eyes as Keats regurgitated another sentence that had just been spoken up in CID. What the hell _was_ this? Did he have a listening device up there? Had he somehow bugged him while they were in the car? No, that was stupid. And besides, Keats had been under close supervision the whole time.

"Well of course," he said, "I'm doing everything by the book." He leaned heavily on his elbow, sending that arm sliding across the table until it met with the tape recorder and knocked it to the floor. The machine stopped recording and the tape fell out. _"Whoops."_

Keats began to look a little alarmed for the first time.

"Well, you _are_ becoming more like your father every day," he said, trying to block out the increasingly angry look in Simon's eyes.

"I said no games," Simon leaned across the table, "so what is it now Keats, hmm? You turned into a mind reader?"

"Funny, that's what I _thought_ you were going to say." Keats laughed at his own joke but Simon was far from amused.

"Oh yeah?" Simon was already losing his patience, "How many fingers am I imagining holding up then?"

Keats frowned.

"No need to be rude," he said.

"Where's Gene?"

Keats looked Simon in the eye.

"No comment," he said.

"You left hospital at the same time he disappeared," Simon began, "so what, did you go after him first?"

Keats folded his arms.

"No comment."

"Is he still in one piece?"

"No comment."

"Then _start_ fucking commenting," Simon could feel his anger starting to grow out of control. He thumped his fist onto the table which even disturbed Keats's smug smile for a moment. Only for a moment, though. Keats leaned back a little and stared on.

"Chief Inspector Thomas," he said.

Simon found a sudden, deep frown on his face.

"What?"

"I will talk to Police Chief Inspector Robin Thomas," Keats told him.

Simon just stared at him, trying to work out if he was serious. He started to shake his head slowly.

"You're not getting your hands on Robin," he said.

"I will talk to Chief Inspector Thomas and no one else," Keats asserted.

"The you can just keep your mouth shut then," Simon spat angrily, his blood boiling up so much that he could feel the tops of his ears going red.

"If you want to know what I know about Gene then you'll get Chief Inspector Thomas down here," Keats insisted.

Simon stood up and fixed his glare on Keats.

"You leave him alone," he hissed, shaking his head.

"Just want to speak to him," Keats said, offering his palms as a gesture of sincerity.

He watched as Simon walked towards the door.

"This interview is over," he muttered.

"I told you," Keats said simply, "Bring Chief Inspector Thomas down here and I'll talk." He watched Simon knock on the door to be let out, "Hello? Are you listening?" he smirked and laughed as he saw Simon disappearing from view, "Your loss, Simon. Your loss."

Once outside, Simon came very close to head-butting the wall. Somehow Keats knew how to wind him up better than _anyone_, even when he wasn't saying anything. Or, more than that, when he was saying the same thing over and over again. He glanced back through the doorway and saw Keats give him a little wave which only served to anger him more.

"_Bastard_," he hissed, quietly seething. He was still certain that Keats knew something but he wasn't going to send Robin into the situation to find out what that could be. Alex had been right; he wasn't the best person to interview Keats, but then again who _was_? Keats wasn't a normal suspect. Keats wasn't a normal _person_. If he had information they would still need to find a way to extract it, but it wasn't going to be easy.

~xXx~

Gene sat in a state of shock, staring straight ahead. He could still see the newspaper cover in his mind's eye, the unexpected date that had greeted him showing up in his head again and again as he tried to work out what the hell was going on. Alright. That was enough now. He got the message. Waking up in times and places that were not your own was shit. It was scary, it was daunting and it was gut-wrenchingly upsetting. Enough was enough – he just wanted to go home.

The friendly smile from the nurse who entered the room a moment later did nothing to appease him.

"Morning, George," she said, "breakfast and medication will be coming round shortly.

"Where's my – _huurrrummppppffff?"_ Gene tried to ask a question but found a thermometer thrust under his tongue while the young woman took his wrist and started checking his pulse rate. She frowned a little and laid his hand back on the bed. "Pulse is higher than usual," she said, taking the thermometer back from his mouth.

"So would yours be of you just lost a couple of years," he mumbled.

"Temperature's fine though." The nurse made a note on his chart, then said, "I think I'll check your blood pressure, and trotted away to get the machine.

"_Great,"_ Gene mumbled, "because me blood pressures going to be normal, _isn't_ it?"

He moved his limbs experimentally. They ached and he could feel bruises on his arms and legs, not to mention his ribs, but they were manageable. Held had worse. He certainly felt in a better condition than the _last_ time he woke up.

He reached up to his forehead where the bandage had covered his apparent bullet wound in 2012. There was no bandage there now. What had happened to him _this_ time? He didn't know, but he wasn't planning on sticking around to find out.

He at least seemed to be in pyjamas this time, although pyjamas were almost as bad as a hospital smock to Gene. He had told Alex on numerous occasions that pyjamas were for the sad, the single and the infirm and that he preferred other ways of keeping warm in bed. Unfortunately his preferred method of keeping warm was still years away.

"I'm not making the same mistake as last time," he mumbled. He wasn't going to stick around and play doctors and nurses this time. He didn't care what his wrist band said this time around, he still knew full well who he was and he needed to find a way home, no matter what it took.

He moved his legs across the bed and let them drop to the ground. When he slid from the bed he felt steadier than he had in 2012, that was for certain. He didn't have a real sense of weakness, just pain from whatever injuries the pyjamas were hiding.

He opened the cupboard beside the bed and found his personal belongings. There were some clothes and a plastic bag which he found contained whatever had been in his pockets the day he was admitted. He found his driving licence and a set of keys, along with a ticket for the long term car park.

He had a _vehicle?_

He had a bloody vehicle!

A vehicle that was waiting outside! No taxis, no surprise spare pants… an actual route out of the hospital awaited him!

Well this was more promising, he thought to himself. He knew that it still didn't solve the ultimate problem of who he was or what he had to do to get home but this time he wouldn't be roaming the streets barefoot, claiming to be property of the NHS.

_New plan. New tactic._ This time he would try making his way to Fenchurch East. He wasn't sure why, he was just searching for something familiar. Maybe he could find someone or something that would lead him to find his way home. After all, it was some speeding cop who'd ploughed into him and knocked him into deep space after he'd fled Robin's flat. He was surprised he hadn't crashed into Starbug while flipping through the air. Maybe he needed to go and find whoever it was?

Not that he'd seen them.

Not that he could identify them.

Not that they would even _know_, seeing as it wouldn't happen for another two years.

Shit, this wasn't a very good plan after all. But he didn't know what else he could do. He had no idea who to turn to or where to go?

All he knew was, there was a nurse heading his way with a blood pressure machine and he needed to make a speedy exit.

Pulling down his pyjama bottoms, he slipped his legs into the trousers he'd discovered in his cupboard and pulled them up. There was no coma weight-loss at work this time, he noticed with a frown as he found himself a bit on the pudgy side. _Not enough bedroom Olympics_, he thought to himself as he fumbled the button closed and yanked up the zip. Pulling off his pyjama top he reached in the cupboard again and pulled out something that made him gag in disgust.

"What the blinking heck –" Gene was so horrified he couldn't even swear properly, "bloody _jumper_, it's like a Shoebury knock-off!" It couldn't have resembled Simon's jumper more if it tried.

Gene spluttered and gagged as he pulled the damn thing on. He felt dirty. He felt disgusting. He felt like a Noel Edmonds convention-goer. The first place he would be heading to was a clothes shop, he told himself.

He could hear the rattling of the blood pressure machine coming along the corridor and decided it was time to make a speedy exit. Thrusting his feet into his shoes, hoping he didn't trip over the untied laces, then grabbing his bag of belongings he made a swift move from the room. He'd already knew his blood pressure was through the roof – he didn't want to hang around to send it even higher.

~xXx~

Alex's heart leaped to her throat as she saw Simon despondently entering the office.

"Well?" she demanded.

Simon gave a shrug and shook his head angrily.

"He's not talking," he said.

"You weren't exactly down there long," Alex pointed out, slightly cross. She wondered what he was playing at.

"That's because there's only one person he'll talk to," Simon said. He hung his head a little as he saw Alex and Robin both staring at him expectantly. "_Police Chief Inspector Robin Thomas."_

Robin felt his guts tie themselves in knots as he heard those words.

"He what?" he said quietly.

"Don't worry," Simon said, "you're going nowhere near him."

"No, wait, just hold on." Robin swallowed. He looked at Simon, "Exactly… what… happened down there?"

"Is he at least coherent?" Alex asked/

"Oh, he's coherent alright," Simon said crossly, "quoting word perfectly from our bloody _conversation!"_

Alex felt herself freeze on the spot, Simon's words seeming strange and unexpected.

"He's doing what?" she asked quietly.

"Word for word," cried Simon, "about me –" he couldn't stop himself from punching a random yucca plant, "_knocking something out for him."_

Alex exchanged a glance with Robin. Neither really knew what to say. No one wanted to patronise Simon by labelling it a coincidence but it wasn't as though he could have heard their conversation.

"Simon, you need to get someone else to interview him," Alex began eventually, "someone who isn't so involved with the situation. Someone who doesn't have history with Keats."

"It won't do any good," Simon threw his hands in the air, "he won't talk to anyone but Robin."

Robin had been silent for a little while. His mind had gone over and over Simon's words, trying to work out what to do. He breathed in deeply, gathering together his courage and spoke before his nerves could stop him.

"Well," he said quietly, sliding off the desk on which he'd perched, "I'd better get down there then."

A look of horror passed across Simon's face.

"Rob, no," he shook his head, "there's no way of knowing what he's capable of. It's not safe for you to be that close to him."

"Why?" Robin's expression became resolute and he seemed annoyed by Simon's words, "in case we meld into one big lump of rotten DNA?" he checked for his gun and pulled his jacket on, "it's not some sort of good and evil twin scenario, you know."

"Never said it was," Simon said a little sadly as he saw the dark look in Robin's eyes. The knowledge that he shared half his genes with Keats was still a burden that overwhelmed him sometimes.

"You can't go in that room," Simon told him worriedly.

"_You_ did," Robin pointed out.

"It's different for me," Simon's foot hurtled towards his mouth at breakneck speed, "you're not strong enough."

The look that Robin threw Simon literally made him gulp. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Robin that angry with him before.

"Strong enough not to bend over and drop my trousers," he said and walked towards the door.

Alex reached out and caught his arm before he left.

"You don't have to do this, you know," she said quietly.

Robin glanced from Alex to Simon whose face had turned a very interesting colour.

"According to Keats I do," he said bluntly. His expression softened as he turned back to Alex. "You want to find out what he knows about Gene don't you?"

Alex stared at him. There was a part of her that wanted to tell him not at the expense of his safety but her need to find out if Keats was involved stopped her. She slowly nodded and dropped her eyes to the floor. There had been no news since they'd been back despite uniform slowly combing the area.

"Yes," she said quietly.

Robin nodded. He turned around and made his exit from the office, still torn between fuming over Simon's words and trembling at the thought of facing the devil in spectacles. He supposed this was going to happen sooner or later. Robin had yet to encounter Keats since he had been back. He might as well get it over with while he had handcuffs on his side.

Simon looked at Alex forlornly as Robin disappeared from sight and earshot. His worries were not going away.

"Keats will eat him alive," he said.

"Like he did you?" Alex couldn't resist the jibe.

"_Alex,"_ Simon stared at her, horrified that she'd say such a thing.

"Sorry," she said a little guiltily, "I warned you. Kim's influence."

"You only lived with her for two months!" cried Simon, "I lived with her for _six_ and she never rubbed off on me."

Alex coughed.

"Probably a reason for that," she mumbled. She tried to get her mind back to the subject at hand. "Listen, Simon, I don't think you understand how much Robin went through after you died or how far he's come. He's not going to crumble. He's stronger than you give him credit for."

"I just worry about him," Simon insisted.

"There's worrying and then there's _mothering_," Alex pointed out, "Simon, I know you're having trouble adjusting to getting to know Robin again in a situation where you're not romantically involved. You need to find a new way to relate, but this isn't it. He can look after himself."

Simon still couldn't believe that. He felt that he knew Keats better than any of them – of all the people the evil man had targeted Simon bore more of the brunt than most – and he couldn't see any possible positive outcome from this. He just had to try to trust Alex that Robin was strong enough to face him and that Keats would share something he wasn't prepared to impart to Simon.

Still he couldn't; shake the dark feeling that washed over him. He shuddered and goosebumps covered his arms as though someone passed over his grave. Something didn't feel right at all and until Simon could put his finger on exactly what was wrong he would continue to worry himself silly about Robin facing the wretched one for the first time.

~xXx~

Gene held the keys in one hand and the car park ticket in the other. His eyes scanned the car park, trying to work out which car was his.

"If it's another Mini Metro then I am going to take it apart piece by piece and jam it down the throat of whatever idiot runs this bloody place," he mumbled. Where the hell _was_ he even? He still didn't know if any of it was real.

He found to his surprise that he was the proud owner of a slightly muddy Jeep. It wasn't his usual drive of choice but it was better than his 2012 alternative. He opened the door and climbed inside, scratching furiously at his neck. _Bloody Noel Edmonds jumper._ He supposed when he got home he'd have a little more sympathy for Simon than he'd had in the past.

"No wonder he's such a bloody uptight geek when he spends half his life with forty percent of his body itching," he mumbled, starting the Jeep.

He began to pull out of the car park, knowing full well that he had no idea where he was going. He had vague notions about going to the station but he also knew that the chances were they would assume him to be some wandering drunk and send him to the cells to sleep it off. He hadn't even _had_ a drop but he had to guess that walking into the station and saying, _"I'm from nineteen ninety seven, can you please tell me who was the cock-faced plod who knocked me over in two thousand and twelve?"_ wasn't going to win him any friends.

Well, where else could he go? Not to the address he'd found in his wallet, anyway. He apparently had another wife there. A wife, two kids and a dog whose photograph hidden amongst his personal affects quite simply scared seven shades of shit out of him. Were dogs supposed to be that big? Or have that many teeth?

He changed gears and began to speed up, just wanting to drive. He didn't know where he was going but for a few moments that wasn't even important. In his time in 2012 he'd been so restricted; stuck in bed, no car, unable to move or to walk very far. Here, despite bruises to his limbs, he could move fairly well and had a vehicle. He even had money. He was going to drive like the roads were his closest companions and then pay a visit for the off license for a well-deserved bottle of scotch. And _then_ maybe he could get his head screwed on ell enough to work out his way home.

He suspected he might have to buy a notebook. _Bollocks._

The sky was darkening. It looked as though rain was on the way. The day felt chilly – _thank goodness for horrible Noel Edmonds jumpers_, he told himself. Autumn was clearly in full swing and winter didn't feel all that far away. The wind was starting to get up a little, too. He decided to take the back roads and enjoy the solitude for a while; no one poking him with thermometers, no one sending him to see psychologists about supposed identity crises… just him, the open road and his alleged Jeep.

It wasn't the kind of vehicle he was typically used to handling and he struggled a little to control it. It was no Aston Martin, that was for sure. Maybe he ought to slow down a little? He remembered the squad car striking him – the last thing he wanted to do was to end up ploughing into some random stranger.

Remembering his accident brought his memory back to Robin. Oh _shit_, he'd managed not to think about that for a while. He started to feel quite sick, and it had nothing to do with the rough handling of the Jeep. He couldn't comprehend how he had ended up with Robin's blood on his hands. He started to shake his head, angry with himself for the events that had taken place. He'd got the gun, he'd wrestled it from Layton's hands – Robin should have been safe – he should have been safe and _alive_, damnit all to hell. Why did he even place his finger over the trigger? He felt so angry with himself for that. He was going to take Layton out – why was he even trying to do that? He just needed to arrest the bugger. He was in Robin's flat – all he had to do was use Simon's technique of sitting on the bastard and yelling _"Batman, go and get some handcuffs before I get a Layton-shaped imprint on me arse!"_

His concentration lapsed and her found himself riding the curb.

"Flaming hell!" he cried in horror as he found himself hurtling towards a tree. He thrust his foot down onto the brakes and his tyres squealed in the mud but he struck the tree anyway and found himself thrown forward for a moment. He looked down, hardly believing he'd actually put his seatbelt on. Thank _god_ for that – the one time he'd ever put safety first was the one tine he'd ever needed it.

There was a big bump in the front of his Jeep. His hands were shaking quite horribly, and he could heart he thumping of his pulse in his ears. He sat there, breathing heavily and gripping the wheel for a few moments. Perhaps driving hadn't been the best idea. Whatever he was in hospital for, his co-ordination had clearly be affected more than he realised.

He took a few deep breaths until he felt calmer eternally thankful that he was on a deserted road in a strange year where the likes of Alex and Simon hadn't seen his most shameful driving error in the history of _Gene Hunt's Driving Years_. Then when his hands stopped shaking he began to slowly back up, relieved the Jeep was still in motion. He pulled onto the road and began to drive away, at a slower pace this time, but he'd only gone a few yards when he heard an almighty crack and a creaking noise. In the rear view mirror he caught sight of the tree he'd struck slowly crashing to the ground.

"_Jesus,"_ he breathed, slamming on his brakes for a second time. He turned around to take a better look at the fallen tree. It spanned the whole width of the road, from one side to the other and Gene could only thank his lucky stars that he hadn't been in his path at the time. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't just leave it there, but aside from organising a team of beavers to come and turn it into a random dam he couldn't think what he was supposed to do.

He heard the sound of the car in the distance. It was heading in his direction, he was fairly sure. He didn't have time to think any more deeply about it than that, though, because the speed of the oncoming car ensured that it arrived in his vision far sooner than he expected.

Frozen where he was, Gene could do nothing but watch as the oncoming squad car ploughed straight into the fallen tree. It was travelling at such speed that it couldn't have stopped even if the driver had seen it.

"Hellfire," Gene mumbled, his heat sating to race again as he finally got himself together and opened the door of the car. He tumbled out in time to see the car spin over; once, twice, three times until it finally came to rest upside down, its mangled and battered frame the prison for two people who were trapped not by the crashed car but by the blackness and the nothingness that had enveloped them and stolen their consciousness from them.

Instinct kicking in, Gene ran to the crashed car, his feet pounding across the road as raindrops began to fall, but the closer h drew the deeper his heart sank and the more his stomach bubbled with desperate fear.

"Oh _hell…"_ he breathed, "No... _Shit_… oh god, _no –"_

Dropping to his knees beside the car he saw the faces of the two men within and, right there and then, he coughed and gagged and vomited foul tasting acid at the side of the road. He heard screaming but didn't even realise it was coming from him. The truth of the situation reached down his throat and tore him apart inside. It couldn't be happening… this just couldn't be happening, It wasn't possible. Yet the evidence was right there in front of him.

In the driver's side was a dark haired man, blood pouring from his nose and the gashes to his head; his body limp as his mind travelled far away, a state of unconsciousness sparing him from the pain.

Beside him lay a fair-haired man, a natural curl fought by blow-drying and gel, smart shirt turning red as blood seeped from his wounds and a trail of the stuff trickled down from his ear. The darkness had enveloped him too, but he'd reached a deeper level. This won't a coma. This was a dead man.

A dead man.

His dead son.

"_Simon,"_ Gene swallowed and fought for oxygen as he ceased to breathe. He couldn't force his lungs to take in a single gulp of air. He couldn't do a thing apart from staring at the horrific sight before him, the two men whose limbs were tangled up together; one still living – _barely_, the other who'd lost his grip on life.

"_No,"_ Gene finally forced himself to breathe in. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, "no, no, _no_, this isn't fucking possible…"

He shook from head to toe as his mind replayed his accident; striking the tree, hearing the creaking and the cracking, and finally watching as the panda car rolled over and over in mid-air, like a strange metal ballet dancer pirouetting out of control.

He'd killed Simon. His careless driving had led to the accident that killed him; his colleague, his son, his best and only friend.

"_This isn't happening,"_ he screamed to the sky as rain fell a little harder.

He wished his words were the truth. He wished it wasn't happening.

The bloodied bodies before him stated otherwise.


	16. Chapter 15: One Day in May

_**A/N: Please accept my apologies for – well, anything… bizarre. This chapter and the upcoming ones this week are brought to you by large quantities of opiate painkillers and caffeine. Stupid biology.**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 15**

Gene backed away, shaking violently with every step that he took. He shook his head and muttered words of disbelief under his breath again and again, so certain that this couldn't really be happening, and yet as his eyes focussed on the wreck before him he couldn't deny it. His brain went over and over the events of the last few minutes but they didn't make any more sense now than they had the moment he'd caught sight of the inhabitants of the car.

_This is not how it happened._

He told himself those same words time and again. He wasn't alive in 2010, he'd died many years before so how could he have struck the tree that caused Simons death and Robin's coma? He _couldn't_. It didn't make sense.

The only thing that made sense to him was knowing that he had to do something. He couldn't leave them where they were but there was nothing he could do alone, not unless he suddenly stumbled upon some kind of heavy duty can opener to get them out of that mangled mess of metal. He needed to find a phone, to call the emergency services and get them some help

His hands were still shaking wildly as he fled to the Jeep, jumped in and started the engine He didn't know how he was ever going to drive. The shock had instilled in him such severe trembles that he could barely keep his hands on the wheel but eventually be began to pull away, with one last horrified glance at the car wreck behind him in his rear view mirror.

He swallowed down the strange and alien feeling of grief that he felt when he realised that Simon was most likely dead already.

The rain was starting to fall harder now and the road grew slippery. Gene thought the Jeep would handle better than that on the slick road but somehow he just couldn't seem to keep it from skidding, maybe the tyres needed replacing? Or was it more to do with his shocked and shaking form? Either way, he tried desperately to keep himself composed and keep his eyes on the road but out of the blue, right in front of him an animal came from nowhere and flashed across his path.

"_Shit!"_ Gene slammed his foot down hard on the brakes and pulled back the wheel, avoiding the animal by inches but sending himself into a spin. With bald tyres, trembling limbs and a slippery road he had no way of wrestling back control and the barrier loomed large. All the swearing and begging in the world didn't stop him from crashing through it and flipping over and over down a grass bank and finally onto its side on the railway line.

There was no seatbelt to save his fall this time. With a bloodied head and broken limbs, the pain overwhelmed him and with one last breath total darkness overcame him.

~xXx~

Robin held his jaw firmly as he looked through the window to the interview room.

"Someone's been watching him the whole time?" he asked the officer waiting outside.

"Yes."

"Has he... done anything?" Robin asked, "said anything?"

"Just sat there," the officer told him, "smiling,"

Robin breathed deeply for a moment or two. He fixed his eyes on Keats and tried to keep himself strong. He couldn't recall anything that had ever scared him this much before, with the possible exception of the first time he encountered Kim's bra. He closed his eyes for a second and drew together his courage, then he opened the door and stepped through, his face neutral and his eyes cold. He showed Keats no fear, but showed him no hope either. He was a realist; he knew the likelihood of getting anything useful from the madman wasn't a strong possibility, but he had to try.

The moment Keats's slightly crazed eyes turned to him Robin almost wavered but he kept his nerve.

"Well?" he said sharply.

Keats looked him in the eye.

"I've been looking forward to this," he said.

Robin crossed his arms,

"Really? Well that makes _one_ of us then," he said.

"So Simon _did_ get you after all," Keats said smugly.

"He didn't _get_ me, I came of my own choice," Robin told him.

"Well, I'm flattered," said Keats,.

"Don't be," Robin hissed angrily, "believe me, I'd rather be plucking Geoff's eyebrows than talking to you."

"So why are you here then? Hmm?" Keats asked, "Come to claim thirty-two years' worth of birthday presents from me? Because I think it's a bit late for that."

Robin wasn't going to rise to it. He shook his head slowly.

"Thirty one," he said.

Keats frowned.

"What?"

"Thirty one," Robin repeated, "My birthday's not until July, but I'll be expecting something then. Probably a bomb, knowing you. Or not, since Layton's locked up now."

"Oh, it's _so_ cute," Keats laughed, "trying to talk like the big boys. You're still just a kid in short trousers, Robin."

"_Chief Inspector Thomas,"_ Robin knocked Keats's hand away as he reached for his glass of water, "and make this quick. I haven't got all day."

"Make what quick?"

"Whatever you know about Gene."

Keats stared at Robin as he looked him right in the eye.

"I've passed the test, you know," he said.

Robin closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath so hard that it made his throat sore. His expression filled with irritation and frustration as he said,

"I'm not here to talk about your Open University course in being a total fruitloop, I'm here to find out what happened to Gene."

Keats ignored him. He stared him in the eye and tapped his finger on the desk a little to embellish his words.

"Moment you arrived, things changed," he said, "and I started to feel a little… _off-colour_." He studied Robin carefully and watched his throat move as he swallowed nervously, "I couldn't work out why at first. I was overwhelmed. I'd never felt the energy like it before, you know. And then I found out you'd crash-landed in this place… straight from your perfect, idyllic, _freaky_ life," a very real hint of misery crossed Keats's face for a moment but he fought it and made his expression neutral again, "and it all started to make sense. I still couldn't understand why it hit me so hard though."

"Someone will be hitting you hard in a minute," Robin muttered, waiting for Keats's rambling to end.

"You weren't the first new face with the title and the power since I'd been here," Keats continued, "Simon never had this effect, but then he's not quite you, is he?"

Robin just continued to stare. Keats was ranking about a zero to a one in the making-sense stakes and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Robin was desperately trying to fathom out what he was saying.

"If he was me then I wouldn't be standing here having to listen to your mouth run away with you," he said.

"See, he's just about found his level," Keats continued, "crappy little department with the freaks and weirdos nobody cares about. Buy _you?"_ he glowered at Robin, "you've got a way to go yet."

"Oh boy, I just love it when you tease me to breaking point with your fascinating riddles," Robin said in a monotone voice which seemed to genuinely annoy Keats. In all honesty, Robin couldn't care less what Keats was trying to say. He knew that he pulled stuff like this all the time. That had become clear from things that Kim and Simon had told him. He would take a _tiny_ piece of knowledge and turn it into a full-scale riddle, like an author who knew the big picture volumes in advance and teased their readers with myriad hints until the moment of the big reveal.

"See, I am looking at the parallels here," Keats continued, "and at first I just thought it was the genetics between us, but I think it goes beyond that."

"DNA is the only thing I share with you," Robin said bluntly.

Keats' face broke into a smile.

"Is it?" he asked, his eyebrow raised.

"I wasn't planning to lend you my toothbrush," Robin said crossly.

"Oh, I think we share a bit more than that," Keats's expression clouded with anger and contempt that he'd done well to hide away until that moment, "_don't_ we?"

Robin couldn't stand any more of Keats games. He was growing bored.

"Let's talk about Gene," he said, "what do you know? Where is he?"

Keats blanked the question.

"So how _is_ she then, Robin?" bitterness began to seep into his voice.

Robin froze.

"Who?"

"Kimberley."

The hairs on the back of Robin's neck began to stand on end and his jaw clenched so hard that his head began to hurt. He stared at Keats with darkness in his eyes.

"You don't even deserve to speak her name," he hissed.

"I made such an impression on her that she could clearly never quite get over me," Keats leaned forward, a sneer hiding behind a smile, "no wonder she went for the closest thing to come along. Shame she had to settle for second best though."

"That's why I'm _really_ here, is it?" Robin hissed, "for you to try to taunt me about Kim? Because it's not going to do any good, Keats." He shook his head, "but I think you already know that. You know full well what we mean to each other. No amount of jealous rambling is going to change that. And yet somewhere, deep down, you _actually_ think that she liked you. You think it wasn't the drugs and the hypnosis and the gas and air at work." He shook his head. "You're not getting to me that way, Keats. Try again."

"How does it feel to know I had her first?" Keats goaded him but Robin just shook his head.

"Where's Gene? He asked.

"I can remember every inch of her body."

"Where did you go when you broke out of the hospital?"

"When I close my eyes I can still see her –"

"Did you go to the docks?"

"- all those times she lay there –"

"Did you see Gene?"

"- waiting for me –"

"Did you fight?"

"- Needing me –"

"Did he get hurt?"

"- night after night –"

"Did you take him somewhere?"

"- day after day -"

"Where is he now?

"- and she never got over me."

Robin had to fight every instinct in is body not to throw his fist in Keats's direction He knew that was exactly what he wanted. He wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. But something in Keats's words set off a dark fury inside him.

"No," he whispered, "she never got over you."

"We finally agree on something!"

"She never got over you as it's clear to see when she wakes crying in the night," Robin's voice shook slightly as he spoke, "she turns off the radio when certain songs come on. She winces when someone says your name. She drinks herself halfway to oblivion on the anniversary of the day you drugged her the first time every year. She imagines it's your face she's inflicting the pain on every time she tattoos someone. She flinches when someone touches her in certain ways or certain places. And no matter how many years have passed, she will never get over you because you killed a part of her inside."

The expression on Keats's face contorted in a way Robin wasn't expecting. He'd never been present to see the flickers of humanity that would come forth every now and then, spurred on by the way he felt about Kim but fought back with every breath. She was the one and only thing that had ever brought out his human side; the fact of how he felt about her, the way that he found himself succumbing to human emotions, but ever since she'd left Gene's world that human side had remained hidden. For the first time in almost a year it began to sneak back out. Those were _not_ the ways in which he wanted to remain a part of Kim's psyche. His eye twitched and his whole body gave a shudder but he forced it away quickly.

"Nice to know she remembers me," he said.

"But," Robin started to shake as his tone grew darker, "she learned to smile again. She learned to _live_ again. She took back her life and this time she grabbed it with both hands and just ran with it for all she was worth. She took back her job and stormed the ladder. She _healed_. And -" he leaned as close to Keats as he dared for fear either getting a fist in the face or a whiff of his unwashed armpits, "- she learnt to love again."

The glare that stood between then burned with hatred and fury from both sides that was built on so many different levels. The anger and fury that passed between them in the one look, that one moment could have destroyed universes. Keats had certainly never expected Robin to have developed the level of strength and determination that he saw before him, while Robin was surprised to find his fear replaced by anger and defiance. He watched Keats's eye twitch again as he swallowed.

"Did she now?" he said quietly.

"Yes," whispered Robin, "and guess what? It wasn't _you_ she loved."

"_You don't know what things were like!" _Keats's sudden outburst shocked him even more than it had shocked Robin. It had burst forth like a sneeze or a hiccup; something involuntary, a reflex that his body succumbed to without thinking. His eyes opened wide and he stared at Robin, shaking visibly. He swallowed and tried to backtrack from his emotional outburst forcing himself to turn his stare cold and hard again as he said, "If you'd seen us, you would understand."

Robin shook his head, teeth clenched. He'd already heard from Kim what it was 'like'; the way he got inside her head and took away her control, the way he'd slip a little something into her drink, the way he pursued her relentlessly no matter what she did. That's what he understood.

"And if you saw _us,"_ he hissed, "then you would understand that anything that happened between you and Kim was against her will because then you'd see what it's like to –" his voice wavered with sadness, "- to have her look at you with real love in her eyes." He had to pause and breathe in deeply to calm his emotions. Those moments were reserved for when he was at home, alone, lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't going to let his emotions show now. Not in front of the monster. He pulled himself together and fixed him in his glare. "But you'll never see that. Because, if there's one good side to being separated from Kim it's knowing that you're in the same side of the line that I am, and if _I_ can't get to see her then you'll never get to see her either."

A twitch of a smirk came over Keats's face.

"That's where you're wrong," he hissed. He waited for Robin to react but he didn't speak. "Because I _have_ seen her." Still Robin did and said nothing. "I can see her any time I choose."

Robin couldn't think of a thing to say. Keats's words seemed beyond the bizarre.

"I feel another call to the men in white coats coming on," he said. Keats had to be losing the plot again.

"I see her all the time, Robin," his smirk began to grow as his previous burst of emotion became just a memory, "ever since you came back I've had the pleasure. There in my mind, I can see everything, like switching on the television set." He paused and sighed deeply. "Oh my goodness. Such a shame."

Robin didn't dare to blink.

"What do you mean?"

"All the life, just… faded away," Keats gave a mock sob, "she's so, _so_ cold now.

"What are you talking about?" for the first time Robin began to feel scared, "she's not dead."

"She's dead inside," Keats told him, "isn't that worse? Where's that look of love now, Robin? When she wakes up in the morning and walks out of the door without even brushing her hair… when she stays in her office until nine at night just so she doesn't have to go home… when she finally has to leave so the cleaners can scrub her boot marks off the carpet and spends her evening downing one scotch after another before passing out on the couch... It's like seeing Hunt with tattoos and tits."

Robin reacted without even realising what he was doing. Keats spluttered and blinked a few times before he realised Robin had thrown his glass of water in his face and stared at him in complete shock. He'd always had the idea fixed in his mind that Robin was supposed to be the weak one. Well, that's the attitude _Simon_ had always put across. He'd seen a different side to Robin during his vacation to Layton's body in 2011 but even then he hadn't expected him to change this much.

"I really hope you don't expect me to believe a word that comes out of your mouth," Robin hissed, almost shaking with anger.

"And why not?" Keats frantically wiped the water from his face and tried to dry his glasses on his trousers, "because you don't _want_ it to be true? She's a cold fish now, Robin. Just a job, that's all she is. Sitting behind that door, hiding behind her name on the glass. Her office is her home now."

"She doesn't have an office," Robin hissed.

_"Didn't,_ when _you_ were still part of the breathing club," said keats, "now that's practically where she lives."

Robin shook his head.

"I know better than to listen to you, Keats," he whispered.

"Want me to prove it?" Keats raised his eyebrow, "want to be sure that I've got a window onto her world? what can I tell you that you'll know is true?" he aimed his fingers in the direction of Robin's abdomen and imitated two gunshots – _"Bang! Bang! _Bye-bye baby." He watched as Robin's whole face froze, then slowly became awash with anguish and pain. "Getting the picture now, Robin?"

Robin bit down on his lip. It was all he could do to stop himself losing his temper. He swallowed very hard and then said in slow, measured tones,

"And how… pray tell… are you _watching_ this one-woman show?"

"I can see more than one woman, Robin," Keats gave a malicious laugh, "well, I _could_, for a while. Now there's just Kimberley. All alone. Falling apart." he reached for his glass of water, remembered it was empty and put it down again. "You know, all his time I thought Simon was turning into a Mini-Hunt. But, despite his parentage, I got it wrong. I think Kimberley's taking that role fairly well. How do you like your women, Robin? Pickled?"

Robin closed his eyes as fury raged in his blood.

"- I - _don't_ -," he spat simply.

Keats smiled. Finally he was getting to Robin. That's all he wanted.

"No," he said, "I suppose not. Anyway, I suppose Kimberley has more balls than your previous partner." He smiled amiably, "and I should know."

Robin knew the time had come for a quick exit before he did something he was going to regret. Keats had that one thing over him that he knew was going to come up time and again. In all his life Robin had only been with two people – and Keats had shagged both of them.

"You were supposed to be telling me about Gene," he said bluntly.

"What _exactly_ was I supposed to be telling you?" Keats asked.

Robin hesitated. He began to feel a realisation wash over him; the realisation that Keats knew absolutely sod all.

"So I've wasted my time then," he said, "you really don't have any idea where he is."

"Did I say that?"

"It's bloody obvious," Robin said crossly, "if you knew anything you'd be shooting out more cryptic clues than the bloody Times crossword. You can't resist it. The fact that you've not said a thing is the biggest bloody giveaway."

"You give up too easily," said Keats.

"_You_ drag the same joke out too long," Robin said crossly. He took a step towards the door but needed to ask, "if you had no idea what's happened to Gene then what am I doing here?"

"Getting in my face," spat Keats.

"Why did you say you'd talk to me?" Robin demanded.

"Because," Keats's smile held many facets – relief, smugness, malevolence – "I needed to see if I could do it."

"Do what?"

"Stay in control."

Robin stared at him, not quite understanding.

"How about trying to stay in control of your flapping lips?" he suggested before he turned and walked to the door. Just as he knocked to be let out Keats spoke up again.

"And I _can,_ Robin," he said, his smile never fading, "which means that I've got _everything_ under my control."

"Except your gob, apparently," Robin told him and stepped out of the room. Just before the door closed behind him he heard Keats's voice call after him,

"_Thank you for everything you've given me, Robin. It's like waking up with a fine set of super powers."_

"Super power of talking shit," Robin told him as the door closed behind him.

He stood there for some time, just breathing slowly and trying to get over the anger that confronting Keats had left inside of him. It had been an exercise in wasting time and they were getting no closer to finding Gene. The clock was still ticking and if Keats knew nothing then they'd have to start from scratch – presuming it wasn't already too late.

~xXx~

There was no pain.

Why wasn't there pain? That was the first thing Gene had expected.

He remembered the car crashing through the barriers and flipping over and over; his body tossed around like he was on a fairground ride with no safety measures to stop him tumbling out of the damn thing. He couldn't remember the exact moment that everything went dark but he _did_ remember feeling fairly sure that this was it; the moment he was going to die.

Just like Simon had died.

Oh shit – _that_ again.

The memory came bursting through to his mind and he thought for an awful moment that he was going to throw up wherever he lay. Bloody hell, how had it happened? It wasn't possible. He knew that Robin and Simon had hit a fallen tree but the thought that he'd been the one to cause its fall was preposterous and he didn't understand it at all.

He remembered Robin before that; trying desperately to save him and leading instead to being the one to put the bullet in his brain. His head felt like it was going to explode. None of it made the slightest bit of sense to him and he was no closer to home. He felt further away than ever with so much blood on his hands that he could never wash them clean.

"_Ooof!"_

Gene's eyes opened with a start as someone's boot made contact with his backside. He shot up in the air and hit his head hard against something long and flat. He wasn't sure what to do first; to see who'd put the boot up his bum, to see what had bashed his bonce or to rub the quickly growing lump on the top of his head.

"_Oi,"_ the voice behind him declared, "stop shirking! You're supposed to have finished by now. We've got a sticking door and a ceiling tile still to sort."

"I'll be sorting _something_ in a minute but it's more likely to be your face," Gene mumbled as he rubbed his head and turned to see a man with a rather large moustache standing behind him. The man put him rather in mind of a Super Mario game. Great, so not only had he accidentally killed two people but now he'd woken up wearing what appeared to be too-tight overalls in a pathetically pastel shade of blue, working for someone who might be able to collect mushrooms and coins at any moment.

"Get that bloody shelf finished," Super Mario or whoever the hell he was kicked a screwdriver in Gene's direction, "then put that blinking box of tricks on it and meet me in Superintendent Hedges' office to put in that replacement ceiling tile from where the bloody giraffe stuck its head through the old one."

Gene wanted to retaliate and throw a narky comment in his direction, possibly something about saving princesses or jumping down pipes, but his throbbing head and his confusion stole all his self-proclaimed wit and charm from him.

He slid out from the strange place he'd awoken and discovered he appeared to have been taking a nap under a shelf in a room full of machines that hummed and whirred; tiny lights blinking and dancing while the hot hum of information was cooled by fans that maintained the temperature in the confined space. On the wall was a calendar featuring the top 12 computer game babes while to one side was a desk where the room's usual workers would sit. Its contents included wires, blank CDs and a cheesy mug with a picture of a computer and the slogan_ "I've got a WINDOW in my schedule"._

"From Super Mario to Bill Gates," Gene mumbled, "I'm in hell. I _did_ die in that crash and I've gone to a hell where the earth is populated by geeks. It's like living with Shoebury all over again."

His head was hurting more than ever, and not only from the bump on the top. He didn't know what was going on but he knew he couldn't take much more. The calendar that showed a picture of Lara Croft doing her thing presented the date as May 2010, a newspaper lying on the desk pinned the day as Friday 21st. Gene's head was in a twisted mess. For all he understood he might as well have woken up in the middle of the circus.

His brain was scrambled. He put his head in his hands and sighed with frustration.

"_There's no place like home,"_ he mumbled, clicking his heels together three times, but all that happened was a scuff mark on his boot.

_Bugger._

He wasn't home yet and he wasn't sure when he ever would be, but as he stared out of the doorway into the corridor beyond he finally felt a sense of familiarity. He shook his head a little. He could hardly believe where he was. What were the chances?

"_Fenchurch East,"_ he whispered.


	17. Chapter 16: Plug Attack

**Chapter 16**

Gene shook his head as he tried to work out what the hell he was supposed to do. This time at least he was on familiar ground but he still wasn't _home_. If he went to CID right then there would be someone else's name on the door. He didn't belong in May 2010 any more than he'd belonged in October 2010 or in 2012.

He gave the shelf an evil glare.

"Thanks for the molehill on me head," he snapped at it and gave it a kick. His eyes moved to the 'box of tricks' that Super Mario had mentioned to him. He had no idea what it was just that it had a lot of little tiny flickering lights on it and looked bloody heavy. He muttered under his breath as he grabbed it and groaned with strain as he tried to lift it up onto the shelf. There was a little bit of a creaking sound as he sat it on its new home but it seemed to settle down and Gene stood back to take in the strangeness of the contraption.

"Looks like something Shoebury would want for Christmas," he muttered as he rubbed the lump on his head. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next. What had that idiot told him? Oh yes, to meet him in Superintendent Hedges' office. _Great._ Meet him in the office of someone he didn't know. What was he supposed to do, go round looking for all the offices until he found the right one?

"What the ever-loving fuck am I doing?" Gene cried. He was actually contemplating carrying out orders from a computerised plumber's _lookalike!_ He shook his head and told himself off quite severely for that. He was even starting to lose his sense of self. He was the Gene Genie and he needed to stay focused on that.

Perhaps a visit to CID wasn't so off-the-wall after all.

He started to pace to the door, catching his foot in a wire which tangled around his shoe and sent him sprawling to the floor where he landed flat on his face. Swearing and cursing for all he was worth, he yanked at his foot until the plug left its safe home inide its socket and he was free once more.

"See how you like _that_, you three-pinned _prat,"_ he told the plug and tried again to make his exit, this time unhampered by malevolent wires.

~xXx~

"_Shit."_

DCI Simon Shoebury was a happy man with a pretty good life. A dedicated, hard worker; he had worked his way through the ranks and had been a Detective Chief Inspector at Fenchurch East for two years. He had his own office with his name on the glass and his photos on his desk. He was a highly regarded member of the station who had improved the success rate of his team greatly after his promotion. Everything he touched turned to gold – or more accurately, ended up behind bars. He lived for his work but not in a bad way – it wasn't as though his job was the only thing he had in his life.

With a loving family and a happy relationship, he had it made. While his mother had died while he was young his father had brought up Simon and his two sisters and they had always been a close family unit. His family had grown with his sisters getting married and soon giving him nieces and nephews to dote on. He had never moved far from his relatives and they still spent a lot of time together. He'd already started planning the details of his father's upcoming birthday meal.

And then there was Robin; his boyfriend. They'd been together for years now. Meeting over a crowded dance floor as teens, a friendship that succumbed to the sadness of losing touch was reignited when they met by chance at work further down the line.

It was fate.

They were each other's first and only love; they would spend hours indulging in the fine art of _nerdery_, discussing the finer points of everything from faster-than-light space travel to the likelihood of a parallel universe in which everyone spoke only in Red Dwarf quotes. They were comfortable with one another; taking turns to host nights spent with TV, DVDs and good food. They balanced each other out – while Simon had the logical brain Robin had emotional sensitivity; while Simon forged ahead with his career Robin took time to concentrate on enjoying other aspects of life. While Simon had the bigger DVD collection Robin had the better satellite TV package. It was a match made in heaven. In fact, Simon was pretty damn happy with life.

Except for the little icon buzzing in the corner of his screen.

_Network connection lost._

Bollocks. This was not the time to lose the network connection. This was the time for the network connection to be very much in use. He desperately needed to get into the files on the Flint case. But the network connection was down, the files inaccessible and his computer quietly mocking him.

He picked up the phone and tried calling the IT suite again. Still no reply. He got to his feet and walked to the door where he looked out and called;

"Hey, can anyone else get onto the network?"

A sea of miserable faces who'd all been trying to check their emails and bid on crocodile toys on Ebay shook their heads.

"It's been on and off this morning but now it's down completely," one voice spoke up.

"Shit," Simon cursed again as he closed the door and went back to his desk. He made a fruitless attempt at connecting again but still his computer mocked him terribly. He leaned back, reached into his pocket and took out his iPhone. It was practically like a limb to him. He never went anywhere without it. Robin had been concerned to note that Simon even took it to the bathroom when he needed the toilet. But it was just habit – he felt incomplete when he didn't have his iPhone to mess with. He sighed as he made a call, leaned back and waited.

"_Canine Division, Inspector Thomas speaking?"_

"Hey Rob," Simon said, a smile crossing his face just at the sound of his voice.

_"Hey you,"_ Robin's usual reply felt warm and familiar, and despite his server-related frustration Simon felt so much better just to hear it, "_you don't usually call this early. Is everything OK?"_

"Is your server down?" Simon asked.

_"Err…"_ he heard Robin move away from the phone slightly to check_, "I don't think so."_ He heard Robin say, "_No… no, it's working OK."_

"Must just be CID then," Simon gave a deep sigh, "got to be a fault with that machine then."

"_How long's it been down for?"_ Robin asked.

"A couple of the guys said it's been on and off all morning but it's just dead now," Simon told him, "I know they were doing some building work in the IT suite so I was guessing they were just moving stuff, but I think they killed it."

"_Sorry, Si,"_ said Robin.

"I need to get into the Flint files," Simon rubbed his forehead, "we're moving on prosecuting him today."

"_Sorry,"_ Robin said again.

"I'll have to go and see if I can find one of the tech guys," Simon told him, "I can't wait around much longer."

_"Sure,"_ said Robin. His voice relaxed slightly as the conversation shifted from business to pleasure. "_Hey do you know if you're coming round tonight yet?"_

"Sorry Rob, I don't know for sure what time we'll be finished," Simon told him, "it depends how long things go on for with Flint. But I hope so."

"_Yeah, me too,"_ Simon could almost hear Robin smiling on the line. That made _him_ smile in return. "_Thanks for last night, Simon."_

Simon looked down and his smile grew a little coy, even though no one was around to see. He ran his fingers back and forth across the desk as he said;

"That was my pleasure."

"_Not all your pleasure."_

Simon looked down a little further and laughed. Ninety nine percent of the time he was firm and professional, but every now and then Robin picked away at a crack in his armour and he let a little of his other side escape when he was supposed to be working.

"Get off my phone," he said, "before I make a bloody idiot of myself."

"_So what about tonight…?"_ Robin asked.

Simon ran his hand through his hair and sighed.

"I'll call this afternoon," he promised, "I'll let you know. I'm really hoping this whole thing will be wrapped up by five."

"_Are you still bringing your wind-up Starbug?"_

"As long as there's still pizza."

He heard Robin laugh on the phone. Simon liked that. He liked the laughter _and_ the pizza. Robin was an excellent cook, Simon knew he was lucky. Without Robin on kitchen duty he'd survive on fried eggs on toast and take-aways.

"_Pizza, yes,"_ said Robin, "_or I can do a stir fry. It's your call."_

"Let me think about that," said Simon, "I'll let you know when I call later." He clicked at his mouse button a few times but the network connection was still down. "_Damn_. Listen, Rob, the thing's still down –"

"_Not sure I needed to know that, Si…"_

"I mean the network connection, bloody fool," Simon smiled as he heard Robin laugh again, "I'm going to go and chase up the techies. I'll call you later. "

"_Bye Simon,"_ Robin said before they ended the call and Simon tucked his phone back into his pocket. He smiled to himself for a moment or two. So life wasn't perfect, but it was as near as damnit. He was a lucky man, he knew that much. Now if he could just get his computer working again life would be even better.

~xXx~

**1997**

Alex looked up as Robin paced through the office. His angry speed took her by surprise and almost made her jump.

"Well?" she asked, shooting anxiously to her feet.

Robin couldn't quite bring himself to look at her. It wasn't news she'd want to hear.

"It's not him," he said bluntly.

"What do you mean, _it's not him?"_ Alex asked.

"He's not got anything to do with Gene," Robin said, a little more quietly, "he really doesn't have a clue."

"Oh come on, you can't be taking his word for it."

"I'm not," Robin finally looked at her. "That's the thing. If he knew anything he'd have not been able to keep his mouth shit. He'd have been winding us up with it and giving us all kinds of stupid riddles. But he didn't. He didn't know a thing."

"I think that's probably true," Simon said as he put down the phone, "according to Fenchurch West he was there when Gene went missing. He must have gone straight there from the hospital."

"They could be covering for him," Alex said

"I doubt it," Simon folded his arms, "they were begging me to keep him locked up here!"

"Well he's still not going anywhere," Robin said angrily, "even if he's got nothing to do with Gene he's still under arrest. He still needs to be interviewed about his attack on DI Stone."

"I'll get Marci and Jake to take over," said Simon, "since the trail's gone cold with Gene they'll be fine. Keats doesn't have anything on them. And if he starts spouting anything he shouldn't they'll just think he's crazy."

"Not far from the truth," Robin muttered.

His entire posture spoke of his anger and bile towards the man who had tried with all his worth to get the better of him. He was twitchy, unsettled and his body language was defensive. Alex was already starting to go out of her mind with worry about Gene, _now_ she was worried about Robin and whatever had occurred with Keats too.

"If he doesn't know where Gene is," she began, "the what did he want with you? Why did he say he would speak to you?"

Robin turned to her. There were tears threatening to burst forth but he worked hard at fighting them back.

"He'd been waiting for this," he said, "he threw everything at me. Fuck, he's got a whole catalogue of the stuff." His eyes sipped to Simon for a moment, "he liked to make it clear that we have more in common than our _father_," he said angrily.

Simon felt himself turning red from the roots of his hair, all the way down his face. He understood only too well what Robin meant. He started to feel incredibly uncomfortable and shuffled towards the door.

"I'll put Jake and Marci in the interview room," he said awkwardly, "and then we'll head back out. Get the dogs on it this time, Rob."

Robin didn't reply as Simon left the office. His eyes were on the floor and his head hung low. Alex felt her anxiety growing.

"Robin?" she said quietly, "did anything else happen?" she saw his eyes flicker upwards and he met her stare for a split second, "he's said something else, hasn't he?" Robin's silence confirmed her question. "What is it?" she paused. "Is it to do with Gene?"

Robin shook his head slowly.

"No," he said, "No, it's not. He really doesn't know a thing."

"But he's said something to you?"

Robin nodded slowly. He felt nausea burning inside him as he thought about it.

"It's about Kim," he said.

Alex felt goosebumps travel down her arms.

"Kim?" she repeated.

"It makes my blood boil when I think what he did to her," Robin shook with anger as he spoke, "and yet he still thinks that she has feelings for him. After everything, he's totally deluded."

"Keats will say anything to get a rise out of you," Alex told him, "he's tried that with us all."

"That wasn't the worst part," Robin said quietly. He noticed Alex's expression growing anxious again. "He said… He said this _stuff,"_ his voice was low and quiet, "Alex, I know how this sounds, but he _sees_ her."

Alex couldn't understand what he meant.

"_Sees her?"_

Robin hung his head.

"I know it's Keats and I know he talks a lot of bollocks but he knew things. He's seen her, back home. He even proved it. He said somehow me being here has done… _something._ It's like he can somehow see back to the real world."

Alex's face whitened.

"What did he say he'd seen?" she whispered.

"He saw her getting shot," Robin's voice waivered, "he knows she lost the baby. He says he sees her now, says she's cold-hearted and all she does is work and drink. It's scared me shitless, Alex."

"He could be lying," Alex whispered.

"That's what I thought too, but he knows so much."

Alex's stomach flipped over anxiously.

"Did he say anything about me?" she whispered.

Robin shook his head.

"Just Kim," he said, his eyes on the ground, away from her stare.

Alex nodded slowly, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Good," she said quietly, speaking without thinking. A slightly confused glance from Robin made her turn away as Simon returned, crocodile in hand.

"Everyone ready?" he asked.

Robin glared at the red wooden contraption.

"That depends," he said.

"On what?" asked Simon.

"On whether that thing is coming anywhere near the case or whether you decide to leave it behind and stay in one piece."

"I can't leave it here," Simon cried, "Bammo's already tried using it to open a tin of beans. I don't want its realistic mouth action getting ruined." He nodded towards the door. "Are we going or what?"

Robin eyed the crocodile. It eyed him back. He decided to try to ignore it for the sake of peace.

"Fine," he said. He looked at Alex who was looking pale and unnerved. It wasn't like her. Usually she was as tough as old boots and full of fight but there was a look of anxiety about her that neither Robin nor Simon had seen before. "Alex?" Robin said quietly. She glanced at him, her expression still troubled. "We'll find him."

Alex wished that Gene's fate was the only thing on her mind. By itself that was grim enough, but with Robin's words about Keats a brand new set of worries moved into the equation.

~xXx~

Gene questioned himself as he walked to CID. Was he doing the right thing? This wasn't _his_ Fenchurch East. It wasn't his CID. It wasn't his domain. He was not the one sitting atop his throne. He was not the lion who roared and watched the hoardes flock around him. He was –

What was he, actually? A caretaker? A handyman? Some twat in an overall? All of the above?

People passed him by in the corridor and none of them batted an eyelid. He might as well have been invisible for what it was worth as he walked into CID and stood there, staring around him. This was definitely not his precious domain. Where was his checkerboard ceiling for one? It had been replaced some time ago with normal, run-of-the-mill tiles. And the décor was all different… some of the office had even been remodelled so the walls were not quite where he had expected them and the desks were all aligned in sensible formations rather than the higgledy-piggledy approach that his own CID contained.

And then there was his office.

And on the office was a door.

And on the door there were three words that turned Gene's face a very strange colour and made him shudder as though a whole marching band had just passed across his grave.

_DCI Simon Shoebury_.

He drew back and left CID fairly fast, pressing himself against the wall in the corridor outside as he tried to absorb it. Yes, he knew Simon was a DCI back in his own time but somehow he hadn't pictured him inhabiting his office. He tried to think back to the day Simon had arrived in 1985. He vaguely remembered claiming it was his office then. But then again, they _all_ did that so he didn't really take a lot of notice.

It gave Gene a strange sensation to walk in on the future and to catch a glimpse of the man he now knew was his own flesh and blood. The _following-in-his-footsteps _was a little more literal than he had imagined.

He'd been right to question himself. This had been a mistake. It was all a bit too strange for Gene's liking. He found it hard enough to deal with some of the oddities in his own world but encountering such a strange parallel in Simon's had disturbed him a little.

Maybe he needed to find that other office after all. Get his arse down there, do his job, replace the ceiling tile and make sure there wasn't a big sodding giraffe with its head through the window, attempting to eat the Super. Perhaps that was how he would get home? It didn't seem very likely but so far nothing else had worked.

"_Oof –"_

"_Watch it!"_

Gene's first step forward had been straight into another person with whom he collided heavily. Both stumbled back a little and Gene found himself moved slightly to one side by the lapels – or at least where the lapels would have been if he'd had any on his overalls. He quickly adopted a scowl and was about to let the guy get a mouthful of Gene Hunt condemnation when he froze in the moment at the sight of blue eyes aimed in his direction.

_Simon._

On first glance he didn't look all that different, save for his attire. But at a second glance just before Simon continued on his journey and walked straight by, Gene could see a world of difference – quite literally a world of it.

His hair was sleek and straight where he took the time and effort every morning to rid himself of the waves and curls he detested, back when he could still be bothered. His skin was clear and smooth, not grey and drawn. His body was skinny but healthy, without the junk and the pills and the drink he had thrown at it through a year and a half of loneliness. This was a Simon who had never woken in a strange place. Never broken three toes or taken little blue and white pills. Never been separated by time and reality from his partner, never lost everything that he had in his life.

This was a Simon that Gene never had the chance to meet.

Well, he'd met him now. For a split second, maybe, but now he understood. Now he understood a little of the resentment that Simon just couldn't shake about his role in Gene's world.

"_I'm sorry, Shoebury,"_ he said to nobody. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. His world genuinely had screwed the man up. Now he'd seen for himself the smart, together man Simon used to be, he understood. Simon's death had changed him into a very different man, and even before that his life was changed forever the day he got a sever in the head.

"_A serv-" _

The bottom fell out of Gene's stomach. A very physical manifestation of dread washed over him from head t toe.

"_Oh sodding hell, not this again –"_

He swallowed as he turned and began to run back in the direction he'd just come from. It was happening again, wasn't it? He was going to kill Simon again. Well… not _kill_ him… but certainly cause him a horrific injury and leave him with a highly misshapen head.

His feet pounded along the corridor, then took the stairs two at a time. Surely this time he would make it. Maybe that was the way to break the cycle? Otherwise he was going to find himself stuck in this loop of despair forever.


	18. Chapter 17: Quite Snappy

**Chapter 17**

"Snap."

Robin gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the crocodile. It sat across Simon's lap like the cat of a movie villain. If he was honest Robin didn't want Simon in the car with him. No offense to Simon, he just would have preferred some time alone to try to comprehend his exchange with Keats and some of the stranger things he'd said. But Simon had insisted that Robin should have someone with him after his conversation with the madman, claiming that Robin was too shaken up to drive alone.

He wasn't. He really, _really_ wasn't. He wasn't exactly brimming over with joy from their conversation but driving alone would have been many _hundreds_ of times preferable to driving with Simon and his crocodile beside him.

"Snap."

"Will you _please_ put that thing _away?"_ Robin was the one who _snapped_ at last. He'd been listening to Simon making the damn thing talk for five minutes and enough was enough. In his defence Simon hadn't even realised he was doing it. It seemed to be some kind of reflex reaction to having a crocodile in his possession.

"_Snap."_

"_Put that bloody thing away_!" Robin cried, snatching it with one hand and tossing it onto the back seat.

Simon stared at Robin, aghast, then glanced into the back seat.

"What's that crocodile ever done to you?" he demanded.

"Apart from snapping at me for the whole journey?" cried Robin, "Oh, _nothing!"_ he shook his head. "Isn't that supposed to be evidence, anwyay?"

"If Gene can keep half that shipment of scotch then I'm sure I can keep one crocodile," said Simon.

Robin shuddered.

"That thing gives me the creeps," he said.

"It's only a crocodile.

"Have you not seen the markings on its face?" cried Robin, "little spiral cheeks?" he glanced at Simon who was looking at him blankly. "Does it not remind you of something from a rather violent film franchise?"

"My crocodile is not going to ask you to play a game, Rob!" Simon protested.

Robin wasn't too sure about that. Nonetheless, he'd had enough of that conversation. He sighed as his mind went over his talk with Keats instead.

"Do you think those two can handle the interview?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Jake and Marci. Interviewing Keats."

Simon exhaled, letting his breath carry with it some of his worries.

"I hope so," he said, "they might get more from him than we would. He just sits there spouting off everything he knows about us. He's never met Jake or Marci. The most he might do is pick on the size of Marci's platform shoes." He looked at Robin as they neared the port. "What did you say to Alex?"

"What? When?" Robin frowned.

"When I went to ask them to take the interview," said Simon, "when I came back she was looking as pale as Eddie's chances of pulling Marci."

Robin shook his head.

"Just something Keats said," he sighed.

"What?"

Robin shook his head.

"It doesn't matter."

"It looked like it mattered to Alex."

Robin sighed deeply.

"I don't know. It could be a load of bull." He glanced at Simon. "Keats claims he can _see_ things."

"Little elves dancing round his head?"

"Things back in the real world," said Robin. He felt his emotions darken as he pulled up at the docks, "he says he's watching Kim." He noted Simon's silence. He wondered if he would ever be able to say her name without things immediately growing awkward between them. "He said some things that scared me. If what he says is true and he can somehow see what's going on then she's not coping."

Simon looked down. He wasn't sure he wanted to know but he asked anyway;

"What did he say?"

Robin slowly shook his head as he unfastened his seatbelt.

"Most of it was cryptic," he said quietly, "things about her hiding away in an office and drinking too much, Something about seeing two women, maybe he was suggesting she was seeing double or something? And something about her name on a door…" he shook his head. "Look, I don't want to think about this any more. I'm already scared shitless about what she's been going through since I died. I need to stop thinking about Keats and focus on finding Gene."

"Sure," Simon said quietly. He found himself more worried about Robin than he was about whatever _Kim_ was going through in the real world. He knew what it was like to be stuck that side of the line, fearing the worst about someone he loved. He hoped for both Robin and Kim's sake that Keats was just spouting his usual level of bollocks.

~xXx~

**2010**

"Oh _damnit,"_ Simon put his hand to his head and sighed as he found the IT suite deserted. Where were the techies? There was no sign of them. _They must have taken the renovations as an opportunity for the longest tea-break ever_, he thought to himself. He shook his head and slumped onto a spinny chair. He resisted the urge to send himself round in circles and instead pulled his iPhone from his pocket. If he was going to be stuck waiting a while then at least he had some entertainment.

No sooner had he fished it out than he lost his grip on it and dropped it to the floor.

"_Shit,"_ he cursed, worrying for its safety. He braced himself, expecting it to more or less explode and for pieces to fly all over the place but it seemed to remain intact, well, that was something, he supposed. He frowned a little as he saw the strange _shelf-come-desk_ it had fallen under.

"This must be what they've been putting in," he mumbled to himself. The techies had been moaning about not having enough desk space for a while as well as needing selves for the new servers. No wonder the room was feeling more cramped than usual.

With a sigh he slid to the ground, crawled under the shelf on his hands and knees and crouched over his phone. It seemed fine; _undamaged._

"Thank god for that," he muttered.

In the same instant two sounds vied for his attention; the thundering of footsteps and the creaking of the new installation above him. His eyes rose to the underside of the wooden expanse just as the footsteps arrived in the doorway and a voice yelled his name –

"_Shoebury –"_

He jumped at the sound, knocked his head on the shelf , swore and heard an almighty cracking sound as the wood gave way and a mass of plastic, metal and wires dropped from above, square onto his head. The blackness was almost immediate. The pain lasted only for a second before he found his mind many years away.

His consciousness had already succumbed to its command to leave him comatose and dead to the world by the time Gene let out a scream that burned his throat and drained his lungs of oxygen. He had to turn away. He couldn't stand to see the terrible sight of Simon trapped under the machine with blood pooling from his ear to the ground.

How many times was he going to have to each his friends and colleagues losing their lives or their consciousness? How many times was he going to have to not only witness those moments but to cause them too?

He leaned back against the wall as officers and detectives rushed past him, alerted by the crash and his screams. He panted for air as he lost all the breath from his lungs. It was an accident, it was _just an accident_ and yet once again the blood was on his hands – and all over the floor

~xXx~

Alex pulled her coat round her and folded her arms as she watched the activity around her. She couldn't remember a time she had ever felt so scared. As much as she saw the worry in the faces of Simon, Robin and various people around the dock she knew that none of them were feeling the same gut-crushing fear that she was experiencing as she desperately tried to imagine where Gene could be or what had happened to him.

She felt angry with herself – and with them all, really. The fact that Gene's disappearance had coincided with Keats deciding to 'discharge' himself had led them to jump to the easy conclusion and at any other time they'd have probably been right. But instead of keeping all options opened they'd focused their efforts on questioning Keats to get all the information from him that they could. Unfortunately this was the one time he didn't have any and so they'd wasted precious time that they should have spent out there, searching for Gene.

What if it was too late? What if they had spent so much rime focusing on Keats that whoever or _what_ever had gotten to Gene had succeeded in making him vanish permanently? That's if anyone or anything was truly behind it. She remembered Simon and Robin when they informed her that Gene had vanished. What if 'vanished' really was the word? She didn't know how that would be possible but, _God_, with some of the things she had seen and experienced she just couldn't discount anything.

And then there was the worry burning at the back of her mind that Robin was wrong. What if Keats _was_ responsible and just playing a clever game? Although the fact that Fenchurch West confirmed he'd arrived there as soon as he discharged himself seemed to suggest that this was the one occasion he was innocent, as did the CCTV footage taken from his station around the time of Gene's disappearance. But with Keats? Somehow she could never be 100% certain of the truth.

She shuddered from head to toe. Was it the chill in the air as night-time descended? It could have been. Or it could have been the thought of the words that Keats had imparted to Robin. She didn't know what to make of that. The notion that Keats could somehow see into the real world was completely ridiculous. It wasn't how things worked. It wasn't as though he could upgrade his satellite TV package to add on sports, movies and the _2012 Channel._

But Keats had been through some kind of shocking transformation in recent weeks. She'd seen him in the hospital herself; the jabbering, the hissing, the foaming at the mouth. Her common sense told her over and over that what he had suggested to Robin was not possible. Her gut instinct told her differently.

She felt her stomach churn nastily as she thought about it. If Keats could really see what was happening out there, with some kind of specific focus on Kim, then what had he seen exactly?

She looked down and took a deep breath. Thinking about Keats was not getting her any further with tracing Gene and that was her top priority. She watched Robin talking to three of his dog handlers, only one of which was familiar to her. The other two officers she'd never met before, only seen from a distance on various cases or around the station. She knew Robin wasn't enjoying his job. Not the way he did back in 2012, anyway. The world had experienced a kind of an '_Oh shit'_ moment when Robin arrived and the appearing department had been poorly initiated before his arrival. The staff and dogs in the unit had been poorly trained and it had been left to Robin to deal with the mess.

Mess in a _literal_ sense, Alex couldn't help thinking as she watched one of the dogs turn and offer up a big steaming surprise to robin who reeled back and yelled instructions about finding a pooper scooper to one of the dog handlers.

How were this bunch of canine miscreants supposed to find Gene? Alex shook her head as her anxiety built up again. She knew there were officers combing the streets, bulletins had been issued to every copper in the station and the news had started broadcasting an appeal for information but her fear for Gene's safety burned her up so badly inside that she had to fight with all of her energy to keep her anger and her tears under wraps. She needed to keep herself together. If they stood any chance of finding him then she had to be as calm and focused as possible, but that was far easier said than done.

As she watched, one of the dogs abandoned its trainer and bounded towards Simon whose inherent hatred for creatures of the canine variety emerged with a scream and a string of expletives that she could hear right from where she was standing. To her amusement the doggy intruder snatched the crocodile from Simon's hands and ran away at speed with the damn thing, with Simon following on in hot pursuit.

She walked across to Robin who was looking vaguely sheepish.

"Did you tell that dog to do that?" she asked.

"Not exactly," Robin told her "but I didn't exactly stop him either…"

Alex's expression became serious and dark as her mind came back to the matter in hand.

"I called in to CID," she told him, "Terry's finished calling the hospitals, there's been no sign of him."

"Simon's going to see if the cameras outside the visitor's centre have picked anything up," Robin told her, "erm, when he's finished reclaiming his croc."

There was some incessant barking which made it difficult to continue the conversation and then a young, dark-haired girl arrived breathlessly.

"Sir!" she cried, "I think we've picked up his scent!"

"_Shaz,"_ Alex felt nerves twitching in the pit of her belly as she saw her. It had been a very long time since she'd last seen Shaz. Things had happened in quick succession the year before after Alex saved Shaz from a second go around with the screwdriver. She recalled how very close she and Kim had become – in face, Shaz was the first person Kim had ever loved – but their happiness had been short-lived when Kim had returned home in the middle of a hostage situation that left Kim presumed to be dead. In the cover-up to mask the real reason for her disappearance they'd even held a 'funeral' for her and Shaz had been told the love of her life was dead. It wasn't long after that Alex woke in 2011 and disappeared from Gene's world. She hadn't seen Shaz since she'd returned and facing her for the first time made Alex feel extremely awkward.

She held back her feelings of guilt as the sound of the dog barking away brought her focus back to Gene and her heart began to race as she followed Robin and Shaz on the trail of his scent. Had the dog really picked up on enough to lead them to him or would this just be another dead-end? All she could do was to have faith that they would find him, because living without Gene was not an option that she was willing to consider.

~xXx~

The sight of the paramedics working on Simon at the scene had turned Gene's guts inside out. He didn't think about this side of things. When a new recruit appeared in his office shouting the odds and feeling the wrath of the fining cabinet he never thought about where they'd come from or the effect on their family and friends when they received '_the call'_; the one he knew Robin was going to be getting, the one he knew the man who'd brought Simon up as his own all his life would be getting, the one those two sisters Simon missed so much back in 1997 would be getting. He blocked it out, all of it, as he concentrated on making sure the souls who appeared in his world settled in and integrated into his world.

Now he was a part of _their_ world and he couldn't stand to see much more.

He didn't know how long it had taken for the paramedics to get his heart started again. He didn't know how long it was before they were able to remove him from the room and begin his journey to hospital. He did know that he couldn't leave him on his own, but the ambulance crew weren't very happy about some man in crap overalls trying to force his way into the vehicle so he had to find another route instead.

"Fenchurch General" he said bluntly as he stepped into the taxi, "and put yer bloody foot down."

He knew there was about a 90% chance that the taxi would face some kind of horrific accident on the way and that he would end up crashing out and waking up about to _kill_ another of his colleagues. But he just couldn't leave Simon alone. Although it was shaking him up to do so he wanted to learn more about the man Simon used to be.

Maybe he could find a way back to his own world in the process.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: just a heads up, going through a stressful time at the moment, having to move at very short notice thanks to a broke landlord selling up. So forgive me if my head is all over the place and also if things go on hiatus unexpectedly. Writing as always remains my escape and my way of relaxing so even when I can't post it'll be stacking up. I need a more mainstream vice :P**_


	19. Chapter 18: Random Dogs

**Chapter 18**

"I'm not cut out for this anxious relative bollocks," Gene muttered to himself after his third cup of instant coffee, straight from the machine. It tasted a little like sewage, expect more disgusting. It was certainly no _Latte Land._

Gene missed his lattes. He missed having a 'regular'; a place where the staff knew exactly what he was there for and greeted him with a smile and a_ 'fifteen large lattes is it, sir?' _

There was very little that he didn't miss. He missed waking up in the new home that he and Alex had almost finished decorating and moulding to their personal tastes. He missed copping an early morning feel and being swatted away by Alex until it was time for the alarm. He missed sharing breakfast with the woman who knew him inside and out, then driving in his magnificent car to a job he lived for.

He wanted his life back. _His_ life, not Michael Kelman's, or George Keene's or…

He pulled his driving licence from the pocket of his overalls.

"…Or _Neil Baker's,"_ he muttered. He didn't understand what was happening. Whoever he woke up as he was still himself on the outside when he looked the mirror or saw his photograph on a driving licence. Aside from losing a bit of weight while out cold in his first incarnation and donning clothes that he would consign to the bonfire back home he was still _him_.

But on the inside? Inside he was losing his sense of self.

"Doc," Gene jumped to his feet spilling coffee all down his overalls. _Shit_. At least it wasn't hot any more. The doctor stopped walking and turned to him.

"Yes?"

"The man with the box o'circuits in his head," Gene began, "_Simon_. Any news?"

"Are you a relative?" the doctor asked.

"I'm –" Gene froze. He felt his heart sinking which took him by surprise. He couldn't very well say yes, especially since he knew the man who was pacing worriedly around the corner was the one who owned the title of 'father'. And he deserved it, too. He _was_ Simon's father. Genetics didn't matter, not when it came down to it. But Gene did count Simon as his closest friend and couldn't even say _that_ to the waiting doctor. Not when the Simon who'd crashed into him in the corridor knew so little of him that he simply moved him to one side by the imaginary lapels. He shook his head slowly. He was nothing. "I'm a bloody handyman," he said, "that's all I am."

He turned around, shaking his head and walked away. What was he even still _doing_ there? Wasn't this usually the part where some terrible accident would befall him and he'd wake up with his hands around Eddie's neck or something? Or perhaps operating a guillotine to relieve Kim of her head. OK, so neither of those things actually _happened_ to those individuals but Gene didn't even want to think about the real circumstances that brought people into his world in case he was making it happen subconsciously and would find himself in the place he imagined.

"_Paul! Paul, what's happening? Where is he?"_

Gene's ears caught a familiar voice and he closed his eyes, silently swearing. He knew who that was. He knew why he was there. He knew he was only going to end up feeing worse but he couldn't fight his curiosity so he walked in slow steps to the end of the corridor and peered around the corner where he saw a man with familiar dark, floppy hair running towards an older gentlemen.

"Bloody Batman," Gene mumbled. He was shocked by how different Robin looked. While the Robin he saw was only a couple of years younger than the one who had recently become a permanent part of his world he seemed to have aged dramatically. No, _aged_ wasn't the right word. _Matured_. The Robin he saw in front of him seemed so very young. The one Gene knew had been through so much that he'd grown up a great deal in a short space of time. And that was to say nothing of the gym visits and tattoos.

Gene could see why Robin's first arrival in his world had taken him right back to being a PC. He'd had a hell of a lot of growing up to do. And he'd _done_ it, as his current post proved, But right there and then a young, scared and desperate _Batman_ stood in the corridor, his arms frantically gesticulating all over the place as he tried to find out whether Simon was alright.

"_He's still in the operating room,"_ Simon's father said. His face was one big image of a man in pain. "_They say they've managed to release the pressure on his brain but there's no way of knowing the long term effects." _He hung his head a little, _"They mentioned the strong –" _his voice broke up, -" _likelihood… of brain damage…"_

Gene swallowed and stared on as he watched two grown men crying their eyes out in the middle of the corridor before him. This was the side he didn't see. This was the side he'd never even _thought_ about – the people left behind. At least worrying about how arriving in his world affected those who entered had passed through his mind from time to time. This was something he hadn't even thought about.

He didn't belong there. He knew that. This was Simon's life as it was before and he had no part in it. He turned around to leave and walked straight into a nurse, spilling the remains of his coffee all over her uniform. Great - his visit to early 2010 was getting better and better.

He really didn't have the stomach to see any more. He'd had as much as he could take and he needed to get away from there. He had no idea where to go now, but that was becoming a theme. Was this bloody nightmare ever going to end? Every time he thought he'd found a way to get back to his own time he just ended up in another deadly situation .He'd reached the point where he couldn't even remember how he got there.

He shook his head to himself as he began descending the staircase. He supposed he had no choice but to go to the address on his diver's licence and see what awaited him. Maybe he'd experience some kind of miracle; go to _number whatever, mysterious address street_ and find Alex awaiting him, announcing a massively early April fool.

"_Watch it,"_ a couple of teens tore down the staircase, desperate to get home to watch the last ever episode of their favourite TV show with no regard for the other users of the stairs. An angry Gene was about to let them have it with both barrels for their nerve but quite instantaneously he felt himself turning lightheaded and his legs weren't sure how to stay upright. Was it the stress? Or the fact he'd not had anything to eat or drink all day? Whatever it was he found himself unable to keep himself upright and before he could stop himself he toppled down the stairs where he rolled head over feet down to the bottom and came to rest; still, silent, cold. His eyes were closed and once again a veil of darkness overcame him.

He was moving on again. His journey was far from over.

~xXx~

"Where's he going?" Alex couldn't understand the strange direction the canine member of the search party was taking.

"She," said Shaz.

"Bitch," said Robin.

"_Robin!"_ cried Alex.

"The _dog!"_ cried Robin, "she's a bitch! A female."

"Is there a way through down there?" Alex frowned as she peered into the darkness, torch in hand.

"If there was then it was probably easier to find in the daylight," Robin mumbled, hitting his head on a plank of wood, "_ow!"_

Shaz's dog had led them past the dock and down close to the water before she'd started to pull them into a mess of wooden beams and planks holding up a small wooden walkway that was usually frequented by kissing couples and youths who'd discovered the joy of alcopops. The barking of the dog disturbed anyone who might have been enjoying the privacy that evening though.

"Why didn't we try down here?" Robin asked.

"Because we didn't know there was a way through," Alex said as she frantically followed Shaz and her dog, doing all she could to keep up. Somehow they all managed to squeeze through the wooden supports without getting stuck, although Robin's uniform did catch on a nail for a few seconds which made him growl in frustration and redden in embarrassment.

"_She's found something!"_

Alex lost Shaz momentarily and tried to follow her voice. She aimed the torch beam in the right direction until she found her again and carried moving as fast as she could. It wasn't easy – there were rocks and sand beneath her feet which hampered her but nothing was going to stop her from following that dog if whatever she'd fund had any chance of being Gene.

As the ground beneath their feet became a little more even and some kid of concrete surface greeted them Shaz slowed down as the dog stopped abruptly and started to bark like a crazy thing.

"_There's a body, sir!"_ Shaz's voice struck Alex like a blow to the chest as she gasped,

_"Who is it?"_

She dropped to the floor beside the fallen mess of limbs and clothing and aimed the torch in the direction that the dog was lavishing attention. It took a moment to find a face to light up, but a moment later there he was, as plain as day.

"_- Gene…"_

Alex drew in her breath sharply as she felt like her heart was about to stop while she leaned forward to find out whether Gene's was still going. She frantically checked him over and the feel of his heart beating combined with the sound of his admittedly shallow breathing flooded her with a wave of instant relief that almost knocked her senseless.

"_Thank god,"_ she cried at the top of her voice, tears just bubbling under the surface "oh thank god, he's breathing… he's _breathing_ –" she reached for his head; his eyes were closed and no hint of consciousness flickered across his expression, "you're breathing, Gene," she whispered over him, "you're breathing." She pulled his head gently into her lap but could feel something strange to the back of it. His hair was matted and damp and she knew it could only be from blood. Half of the relief that she'd felt instantly faded again as she turned back to Robin, wide-eyed and terrified. "Get the ambulance," she demanded, _"hurry –"_

"I'll go, ma'am," Shaz said quickly. She knew she was smaller and nimbler and could get through the wooden posts and back to the cars faster than Robin.

"Is he OK?" Robin asked anxiously.

With one hand still beneath his head Alex shone the torch around him. The colour red came clearly into view and she looked back at Robin with terrified eyes.

"he's hurt," she hissed, "he's badly hurt. His head is…" she began to panic. Should she have even moved him? She didn't know whether that was his only injury or whether there were more that she couldn't see. Her hands were shaking as she felt again to make sure that his heart was still beating. The warmth of his chest beneath her palm was the one thing she could cling to; the one sensation that told her he was still alive and that whatever he'd been through he was fighting. "Come on, Gene," she hissed, "hold on. I'm here now. I'm not leaving your side."

Robin turned cold as he looked at the state of Gene. In the dim light it was hard to tell but he was sure he could see wounds and bruises on his face. With a very real physical presence in Alex's arms it seemed ridiculous to think that he and Simon had ever thought he could have 'vanished' in the same way they both had in the past. And yet something didn't really feel right. Robin couldn't shake the feeling that there was another dimension to Gene's condition that they just hadn't been privy to yet.

~xXx~

Gene's eyes flew open suddenly.

One moment he'd been out cold; the next he was very aware of the sensation of someone attempting to steal his shoes.

"What… in the name… of big buggering bloody loofahs is going _on?"_ he demanded at the sight of a scruffy man attempt to relieve him of his footwear, "want my shoes, do you? That can be arranged –" he sat up and leaned forward, "except I'll make it that you get such a close up look at them you'll need the help of four medical professionals to extract them back out of yer back passage!"

The would-be shoe thief took flight, leaving Gene to try to work out why his armpits stank like Geoff after going three rounds with a box of skunks. He blinked as he looked around. It was cold, and he was out in the open. His backside was planted on as bench in the middle of a park in the black of night.

"Oh bugger this," he mumbled as he rubbed his forehead, "even me bloody overalls were better than this."

The grass smelt damp from an evening of rain which the half a newspaper, dated 2003, that tumbled from his body as he got to his feet had done little to keep from him. He pulled his coat, such as it was around him and tried to pretend that there wasn't a hole in the toe of one shoe. The can of special brew beside his feet made him want to bury himself in a large hole and die quietly. He was a _drunk_. A hobo. He could smell the alcohol on his clothes – he hadn't even been this pickled when Alex had vanished. Was he drunk right there and then? He didn't think so but then again he'd been so disorientated from the moment he awoke as Michael Kelman that he could have just been on one long, endless bender for all he knew.

He rubbed his aching neck and tried to snap his jaw back into place as the drizzle in the wind stung his eyes. Where the hell _was_ he? He looked around and took in the details of the park which was all-but deserted apart from a lone jogger way off in the distance and a dog that's seemed to be chasing sticks all by itself. The dog stopped to eye Gene warily. For a moment Gene feared he was about to get either a nasty nip or the biggest attack of slobber the world had ever seen. Where was Batman when you needed him to rein the damn thing in?

"Go on, get lost," Gene told the dog who merely growled at him with a dose of doggy sass. He picked up an empty can from beside his feet, crushed it and threw it. "There. Go fetch," Gene told him as the dog ran after it.

There could only have been a second or two between the dog racing away and the start of a flurry of activity across the park directly opposite Gene which caught his attention. He saw a couple of figures run into the park and move swiftly around the side of some kind of maintenance she. He might have been under the influence of someone else's special brew that he hadn't even had the opportunity of drinking himself and he might have woken up wearing clothes that smelt like they'd been used to clean the public toilets on Brighton pier but his instincts were as sharp as ever and he knew that something bad was about to go down.

He'd already jumped to his feet and started to make his way across the grassy expanse when a third figure raced through the entrance to the grounds. He watched in dismay and anger as one of the first two figures grasped the newcomer from behind with an arm curved tightly around her neck while the second stepped out from the shadows pulling from his pocket an object which quickly transformed into a knife.

Gene felt the most horrendous feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach as he put on an extra burst of speed, watching the sharp blade glinting in the streetlight as it threatened to take someone's life away.

In an instant Gene was there, his arms stretched broadly as he grasped the assailant with an almighty cry of fury and grabbed for the knife. His hand closed around the one that belonged to the owner of the blade, fighting for possession of the weapon as one hand then the other pulled and pushed it back and forth, desperately trying to rip it from the grip of the other until one man succeeded with an almighty tug. The knife left the grasp of he who'd flicked out its blade with cruel intentions. It belonged to Gene now as his hand held it tightly; the force of his final pull sending him off-balance and he fell forward hard, blade outstretched.

He'd never experienced the sensation of holding a blade as it plunged into flesh before. He felt it slide through the clothes and skin of the woman before him; the one who was still gripped by evil arms from behind, the woman who was going nowhere

The woman whose face filled Gene with familiarity.

There was a split second in which their eyes met. From her side there was no recognition, only pain. But for him, the bottom fell out of his world once again.

He watched as the first attacker let her go, turned on his heels and fled, leaving her body to sink to the ground as a sea of deep red liquid flowed from the wound and began to pool around her on the floor. There was a pleading look on her face as she cried and screamed clutching her hands to her stomach before her cries faded to silence and her hands clutched at the hole in her stomach. Her face grew still, her eyes empty and blank, her whole being dead to the world as her mind travelled to a world so far away.

"_Kim,"_ his voice was strained as he whispered her name.

She looked so different; a far cry to the punky young thing who had stormed into his world in 1995; her long plain dark hair so different to the short blonde spikes, her face free from metal and her skin free from ink. Lying on the floor, her clothes growing sodden from blood and from the rain, she looked lifeless in more ways than one.

Why wasn't he learning? Why the hell wasn't he learning? He should have stayed far away. As he backed away from the body, shaking violently, he couldn't believe it had happened again. He'd killed another one, or at the very least was damn close to it. Seeing her face, silent and still, would haunt him forever just as all the other stock-still faces of people so familiar to him already played through his mind in a perpetual loop, one after another.

This wasn't the end either. He knew that. The pattern was just going to keep on repeating; one after another he'd find their blood on his hands. One after another he would kill them or maim them, or see their life in the balance and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. Blood on his hands… quite literally their blood was on his hands. He was running again, not that it seemed to do any good because he'd just find himself somewhere else with the same old loop repeating, and he just couldn't stop it from happening.

There had to be a way out. He had to break the cycle. He couldn't let this go on forever but if there was a way to stop it but he started to feel fairly sure he couldn't do it alone – he'd already tried, to no avail, and he just ended up back in that loop every single time.

Who was going to be next? He didn't even want to contemplate that. There was enough blood on his hands and enough guilt to rip his soul apart. This was it, the end of the line – he had to destroy the cycle before it destroyed him - and as he tried to work out how to do so one lone thought occurred to him. Perhaps there _was_ a way. Perhaps there was a chance he could break the pattern, and he knew there was one person who just might be able to help him.

He didn't know where she'd be, how to find her or whether she was going to believe him in a million years but she was his only chance. She could rescue him from the nightmare – just as she'd rescued him from a living his life alone. Now there was one question and one question alone on his mind -

Where the hell could he find Alex Drake, circa 2003?


	20. Chapter 19: Somewhere Else

**Chapter 19**

Simon finished wiping the drool off of his crocodile as he stomped back towards the docks. The chase had taken the best part of 20 minutes and had left Simon with a half-eaten shirt, bite marks on his backside and an increased hatred of dogs.

And tetanus shots.

He could tell that something was different as soon as he approached the area. No longer were people walking around, scanning the ground for clues but there were ambulances, flashing lights and people standing around, looking anxious. As he nervously approached it he could see a figure running towards him and just a few moments later Robin was there by his side.

"Simon," he cried breathlessly, "they _found_ him."

Simon froze. Somehow he hadn't expected that news. He thought the search would go on for some time. Their earlier search for Gene had been pretty extensive and he didn't think for a moment that Gene could still be that close by. His whole expression changed, filling with anxiety and fear as he whispered,

"Is he… alright?"

"He's breathing," Robin told him, watching relief cross his features, "but –" he paused as he saw the worry return, "but he's unconscious and he's got a pretty serious head wound. We don't know what's happened to him yet, the ambulance crews are down with him now –"

As he spoke Simon caught sight of paramedics carrying a stretchered body up onto the dock, far in the distance. Knocking Robin slightly to one side, he walked towards them then quickly as his pace increased to a trot. He found himself beside them quickly, his eyes focused on Alex whose stricken face showed him that things were far from fine.

"Alex," he cried, "what's happened to him? Is he going to be alright?"

"We don't know yet," Alex's voice shook as she walked at speed with the ambulance crew towards their vehicle, "it's not looking good."

Although it was difficult to tell in the darkness, Simon could see there were tears running down her cheeks which scared him terribly. He stared down at Gene, his hair a mated mess of blood, and drew back with his hand to his mouth.

"Oh my god," he hissed, gagging slightly. He felt sick at the sight, even more so to think of the fact that someone had done this to him deliberately. The depth of his worry for Gene caught him by surprise.

They found themselves beside the ambulance as the paramedics slowly transported him inside and helped Alex in beside him.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," one of the paramedics attempted to reassure her as Simon tried to follow her into the ambulance. "_Woah_, hold on mate –"

"I'm coming too," Simon said bluntly.

"There's no room for you, sir," the paramedic told him apologetically, "his condition isn't looking as stable as we'd like, we need to have access to him constantly and there's only enough room for one extra person to travel safely.

"I'll drive you," Simon felt a hand on his arm as Robin caught up to him, "Si, let me drive you there."

Simon looked from the ambulance to Robin and back again. Finally he nodded slowly. He couldn't help fearing that something was going to happen to Gene before he even got to hospital and didn't want to travel on behind but he didn't have much choice.

"OK," he said quietly.

Numbly he followed Robin to his car, crocodile hanging limply by his side. His anger boiled over as he thought about how cruel and evil someone could be to cause Gene such awful injuries but there would be time to track them down soon. For now he just needed to know if Gene was safe. Perhaps he'd underestimated their friendship a little.

~xXx~

Gene walked all night. He was in a fairly poor state of mind. First he'd had to find somewhere to quite literally wash as much blood from his hands as he could, then when he'd cleaned himself as much as possible he spent the rest of the night in fear of getting caught and arrested. Over and over again he shook his head in anger. What was he doing in this situation anyway? OK, he _got_ it – his world screwed people up. His world took them away from their friends and their family. His world turned normal, well-balanced individuals (and Simon) into fruitcases.

He got that. He'd had first-hand experience now of what it was like to be 'the nutcase'. He'd seen their blood on his hands. He'd watched them fade away, seen their hearts stop beating, how much more could he take?

When morning finally rolled around he found himself with something of a plan forming in his mind. His appearance wasn't exactly helping him though. He'd gone through his pockets but found no identification. No driver's licence, no address nothing except for some coins, half a Curly-Whirly and a voucher for £1 off his next purchase of special brew.

He made his way to the public toilets of a local shopping centre and used the hand soap to scrub up a little. This was more or less the worst thing he'd been through since he woke up. Killing his friends and colleagues? That was one thing. But dressing like a scarecrow and smelling of _Essence of Bog Brush _left him about as distressed as he'd ever been.

He found himself on the step of the public library just after 9 that morning. He knew how this _not-phonebook_ thing worked now. He walked up to the woman in charge of the computer area and said,

"I need to use yer web thing."

"Right," she said politely, "it's free for half an hour and then two pounds after that."

"Reverse inflation," Gene mumbled as he followed her to a machine.

For someone who came from 1997 his short time in 2012 had really spoilt him for technology as he quickly came to realise. Going back from broadband to dial-up after the super-fast speed he'd been Rickrolled at was frustrating and none of the phone directory or electoral register sites he'd found last time seemed to be up and running. Becoming increasingly annoyed, he returned to the desk and leaned over it.

"How do you get an address?" he demanded.

"A dress?"

"_Listen,"_ he moved forward so far forward that he practically disappeared up her nose, "I am _not_ going through another round of hilarious misheard sentence punnery. I need to finds a bloody address not flap me skirt and call meself Florence. Now kindly tell me how to find an address before I do something highly painful with that Junior Non-Fiction sign."

The woman gulped.

"Why don't you try the phone book?" she asked, indicating a shelf full of local directories.

"Because the ruddy phone book doesn't –" he began but froze as he spotted them all beyond them. He closed his eyes for a moment. This trip to the future was the gift that just kept on giving. "Alright," he mumbled, "I'll just check the ruddy phone book shall I? Why don't I look up an address for Rick sodding Astley while I'm there?"

~xXx~

Robin glanced worriedly at Simon as he drove along. He hadn't seen him this worked up before. He tapped his fingers against his knee, biting his fingernails occasionally, too anxious even to aim '_snap'_ motions at him via his crocodile.

"Si?" he said quietly, "he'll be OK. They'll get him to the hospital and they'll make sure he's alright."

"He's out cold, Robin" Simon said quietly, "it's not looking good."

"He'll be getting the proper care very soon," Robin tried to reassure him, "they'll look after him."

"The state of his head," Simon closed his eyes as he flashed back to what he'd seen, "I don't know if there's any coming back from that."

"I thought the same when I saw the state of _you_," Robin pointed out quietly, "getting a server in the head." He watched Simon look down. He didn't think he'd ever seen him looking quite so worried. "Listen, Simon, I understand – it's natural to be worried about your father –"

"_He's not my father!"_ Simon said crossly, "well, technically yes, he _is_," he shook his head, "but you know how I still feel about all of that. I'll never think of him that way."

Robin looked quickly at the worry on Simon's face.

"Are you sure about that?"

"What is this? Yes, I'm bloody sure!" cried Simon. He closed his eyes and tried to cool down, his anger running away with him. "With or without exposition of the adventures of his hairy arse, Gene is not my 'father'. Not in my mind, anyway." He stared out of the window. "Has been my friend though." His sigh was sorrowful. "When I came here the first time, ended up in eighty five, I hated the man. I really…" he cut himself off as he thought about the way Gene treated him back then, acting like he was a bloody idiot for shouting the odds about his rank and his office. He understood that now, of course. "He was a rude, bullish, patronising bloody homophobe who had a never-ending repertoire of shoe-shop jokes." He hesitated. He couldn't remember the last time Gene had used one of those jokes against him now. "Then I came back here, with you. And things were different." He sighed, "ten years… ten whole _years_ had gone by here. Gene had changed."

"Time does that to a person," Robin said quietly, "you can't expect someone to stay the same way forever.

"The basics were still there," Simon continued, "there were shoe-shop jokes and I feared the filing cabinet, but… he'd sort of… _mellowed_, I suppose. Alex had been good for him. And I suppose _I'd_ changed too." He stared at the street lights as they drove by. "Back in eighty five, if I'd have stayed, we'd never have been able to work together – not in a million years. But when I came back… I guess the time was right for both of us. We got along. Sort of respected each other. And eventually, we became friends."

"It was the right time for you to become a part of his world," Robin said and Simon nodded.

"I suppose it was," he said.

Robin bit his lip as he thought about what Simon had said. A strange realisation began to dawn on him. He looked at Simon as they pulled up at a red light and said quietly,

"Then maybe it wasn't me who dragged you over after all." He paused as he took a deep breath, "two arriving together… they all said it had never happened before. And just because I was the one with ninety-five issues they always said I somehow dragged you to the same year."

Simon looked at him curiously.

"So?"

"So maybe," Robin said quietly, "_you_ were the one who belonged in ninety five after all. And you dragged me here with you."

Simon didn't reply but Robin's words played around and around in his mind,. They made a lot of sense to him. It was something none of them – not him, Robin, Gene nor Alex had thought about before. Everyone had assumed that somehow Simon had been dragged along with Robin but perhaps that wasn't the case. In 1995 Simon had found things different, including his rank. He was supposed to arrive in 1995 for a reason, and it wasn't necessarily anything to do with Robin. Maybe that was simply the time both he and Gene had changed enough to work well together.

It was something to think about.

"I wish I could ask Gene his thoughts on that idea," he said quietly.

"You will," said Robin, "_soon_. He'll be fine."

Simon couldn't quite believe that yet but he tried to stay as positive as he could. With Gene unconscious he felt like a big chunk of the world had been swallowed up and vanished.

"Where do you go?" he murmured.

"Sorry?" frowned Robin.

Simon hadn't realised that he'd spoken.

"Sorry," he said, "I was just musing."

"About what?"

Simon looked at him, trying to work out how to express his thoughts.

"A copper in the real world, lying unconscious in a hospital bed," he began quietly, "you _kind_ of have an idea where they might be."

Robin gave a tiny smile.

"Too true," he said.

"But _here?"_ Simon shook his head, "what happens if you're out cold here? Is it just black?"

"You'd have to ask someone who's been there," Robin told him.

"I'll need Gene to wake up for that," Simon said quietly.

Robin looked at him, feeling awkward. He didn't know whether he was allowed to say anything, whether he was permitted to bring up her name, but he took a risk.

"_Kim_ was," he said quietly.

Simon froze. Robin could see him physically stricken for a moment, then glance at him sideways.

"What?"

Robin swallowed.

"She told me once about when she was here," he said, surprised that his voice was shaking, "and she was shot by Keats." He felt awkward even talking about it. As far as he knew he was the only person she'd told. "She said she thought she'd gone home. Back to the real world."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"She had some long… _dream,"_ Robin tried to explain, "that's what she _said_ it was. I always had the feeling she meant it was more than that though."

Simon looked at him incredulously.

"What, you mean, another world or something?"

"I never said that."

"The implication was there."

"Simon, _I_ don't know!" cried Robin, "I've never been unconscious here!"

"It can be arranged…"

Robin stepped on the brakes and puled to a halt.

"OK, protest all you like about your bloody genetics but that could have come right out of Gene's mouth," he said.

Simon hung his head a little.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "that's not DNA speaking, that's working with the man too long."

Robin took in a very deep breath and let it out again slowly.

"Simon," he said quietly, "listen to me. Kim only spoke about this once. She was clearly uncomfortable even touching on the subject so I didn't press it. I've told you everything I know. She was shot, she thought it had sent her home, spent weeks living in what she thought was the real world until she figured out she was some place else and woke up back in ninety five. When she woke up for real, back in her home time, back in the real world she couldn't trust how real anything was for a long time."

Simon stared at him. The revelation had knocked him a little for six. He felt his mind go back to that dark time, when the wrong Alex was present in 1995 and Keats's bullet had flown right through his head and buried itself in Kim's neck. He shook his head slightly as he recalled her words after she woke up. He remembered her whispering '_home'_ but he hadn't taken much notice – she had only just awoken. The following day, she'd seemed so shocked that she'd only been out for a few hours, and one exchange had struck him as peculiar at the time but he had never really thought much about it.

_"We'll get you home as soon as we can,"_ he'd said.

_"I thought I already was,"_ her devastated expression had worried him at the time but she had never enlarged on that.

"_Shit,"_ he whispered. Suddenly he started to wonder exactly where Gene was and what he was going through. Perhaps there was more to his world than met the eye. He supposed all he could do was to wait for Gene to wake up and ask him directly.

But waking up was the first hurdle. He still had a long way to go there.


	21. Chapter 20: Train Delays

**Chapter 20**

Alex paced nervously in the cold, unfeeling corridor outside the room where various medical professionals were gathered around Gene; prodding him, poking him, checking him for signs of life. She'd been asked to wait outside which she'd protested about like mad but when it came down to it she knew they were only doing their job and the last thing she wanted to do was to get in the way of them caring for him and making sure he was alright. She held her coffee cup tightly. The heat made her hands sting a little. It wasn't enough to burn her, just to give her a warning, she didn't care. She was quite glad of the nasty sensation. It gave her a physical awareness to focus on to take her mind away from the anxiety and the fear she felt inside.

She heard the footsteps running towards her long before Simon came into view around the corner, followed a few seconds later by Robin.

"Alex, how it he?" Simon's voice betrayed his depth of worry. He'd managed to work himself up into an increasingly anxious state on the drive to hospital that had only worsened with his discussion with Robin. He clung to his crocodile for want of something better to do with his hands. Like Alex and her coffee it gave him something to focus on.

"I don't know," she said quickly, her pacing only speeding up as she answered his question, "they're checking him right now. They think he may have a skull fracture, and they need to take him for x-rays and brain scans." Her face looked as though it could crumble at any moment, "they're worried about swelling on the brain. They don't know… don't know how bad the damage is yet…" Her pacing became a little too manic and she spilt hot coffee all over herself. "_Fuck!"_ she cursed as she threw the remainder in the bin to clean herself up a little.

She tried to keep her cool but it wasn't working. The fact was that Gene – and, in turn, Alex – had been rather fortunate in that he'd rarely been the one injured and consigned to a hospital bed. In all the years they'd been together Alex could count the number of hospitalisations Gene had suffered on one hand, and still leave enough fingers left over to make a rude gesture. Usually _she_ was the one who befell some terrible fate – shootings, stabbings, kidnappings, accidents, having Evan as her godfather – you name it, she was a very unlucky person and had spent more time sneaking out of hospitals than she cared to remember. As sad as it sounded Gene was used to being by her side as she lay in a hospital bed. She didn't have nearly as much practice the other way around.

The door opened and a doctor stepped out, followed by a couple of people pulling Gene along on the bed he'd been placed into.

"What's happening?" she asked quickly.

"You are…?" the doctor asked.

"Alex Drake," she said quickly, "Gene's my –" even now it still seemed so strange to say 'fiancé,' "We're engaged."

The doctor looked grim as the porters hesitated in the doorway with Gene.

"Your fiancé has suffered multiple blows to the head." He began to explain, "which seem to be from blunt object, possibly a bat of some kind or a heavy piece of wood." He felt guilty as he saw the stricken looks on the faces of those around him. It wasn't exactly news he wanted to give. "There are also needle marks and bruising that suggest something was administered against his will."

Alex felt the ground sliding away from beneath her.

"_Oh god,"_ she whispered as she staggered back a step or two, the words shaking her deeply. She felt a hand grasp her arm to hold her up and looked around to find she'd staggered into Robin. She gave him a grateful smile as she straightened up and leaned against the wall, took a deep breath and tried to keep strong. God, she'd have felt beyond humiliated if she'd ended up sprawled along the corridor. She looked at the doctor seriously as she asked,

"How serious is it?"

"We're not sure," the doctor told her, "we're about to take him for a series of scans and X-rays. As you know, we suspect he has a fractured skull and there's a severe risk of swelling on the brain. We need to find out exactly what we're dealing with and then if necessary take him immediately into surgery."

Alex felt like she was about to stumble for the second time in a few moments. She somehow managed to keep upright as she said quietly.

"Tell me honestly, what are his chances?"

"It's impossible to know how serious his situation is until we have run some more tests," the doctor said apologetically, "we're taking him now."

"Could I have a moment with him please?" Alex asked quickly.

The doctor glanced at the bed, hovering in the doorway. He turned back to her and nodded slowly.

"Alright," he said, "just one minute though. We need to find out what's going on in his head as soon as possible."

Alex nodded and watched as Simon, Robin and the medical professionals wandered a few paces away to give her some semblance of privacy. It wasn't exactly ideal but then again neither was anything about the situation.

She turned to look at Gene. It was the first time she'd seen the full horror of his facial injuries. Aside from the wounds on the back of his head his face was bruised and scrazed, partly from hitting it when he fell to the ground and partly from being shoved and slapped by whoever had seen fit to treat him so brutally.

"Oh _Gene,"_ she barely recognised her own voice; so fraught and full of fear. "I'm not used to this. I don't know what to say. What do you usually say to me?" she paused as she reached out to stroke his hair, then thought better of it. She didn't want to make anything worse, "because I know you're usually the one who has to deal with finding _me_ in hospital, getting shot or stabbed or…" she shook her head, _"insert name of injury here." _Her expression crumpled with sadness. This wasn't Gene as she knew him; strong, immovable, indestructible. He seemed so weak and frail lying there before her.

"I wish I had the magic words to make this better," she whispered, "but I don't." she reached for his hand and gently lifted it while she rubbed it gently, " all I do have is faith. Faith that you'll pull through this. Because I know you. I know you're strong. And you know that I need you." The doctor appeared in the doorway. He really wasn't kidding about only having a few moments. Eventually she knew she had to let them get on with their job so she turned back to Gene and lifted his hand to her face where she kissed it softly and laid it back down by his side. "Stay strong, Gene," she whispered, "I'll be here when you wake up."

"_If_ he wakes up," she heard one of the staff outside mutter. She aimed a dirty look in their direction. He _was_ going to wake up, she was convinced of that no matter what they said. He had to be alright. Because Fenchurch East needed the Manc Lion at its helm, and _she_ needed him by her side.

~X~

"Exactly how worried should we be?" Robin asked Simon awkwardly as they watched Gene disappearing down the corridor on the trolley.

"I don't understand?" frowned Simon who was already going out of his mind.

"I... maybe I'm wrong, but I always though…" Robin rubbed his forehead, "I thought Gene, and you, and Alex now she's dead _out there…_ I thought it was impossible for you to die."

Simon stared after the trolley as it vanished around the corner and looked down. He breathed in deeply as he thought about Robin's words. It was true that they were supposed to be more or less immortal, a fact that Simon still found hard to comprehend.

"It's complicated," he said quietly, "I don't understand it all myself. I mean, I've been shot at point blank range by Keats and there's been no bullet wound. But then there are… _other_ ways to get hurt… other ways to die… and it looks like sometimes, if it's an accident, then you can still lose your life."

"This wasn't an accident though."

"No, but even if he can't die look how bad that is," said Simon, "there's nothing to say he couldn't have permanent brain damage, or be stuck in a coma. Keats was in a coma for four months."

Robin looked down and nodded. He knew too well about Keats's coma.

"I wish the rules were easier to understand," he said quietly.

"You and me both," Simon said sadly as his phone began to ring. He retrieved it from his pocket and answered the call, "Hello? …Jake, hi." He listened for a moment and glanced sideways at Robin.

"What?" Robin frowned.

Simon listened again and then said,

"Yeah, yeah, he _does_ talk a lot of bollocks… No, that's nothing you've done, that's just par for the course with Keats." He glanced at Robin again which started to make him feel quite uncomfortable.

"What?" Robin demanded, "have I got crap on my shirt or something?" he looked down to check just as Alex walked slowly towards them, calming her tears.

"Alright, just hold the line for a second," Simon told Jake, then covered the mouthpiece and looked at Robin and Alex. "Interview is over;" Simon told them quietly, "Keats has been his usual charming self, apparently."

"What were you looking at me for?" Robin demanded.

Simon looked a little uncomfortable.

"He started pulling the same thing he did with me," he explained, "he said he'd only talk to you."

"Oh for _fuck's sake,"_ Robin ran his fingers through his hair as he paced in a circle, "he didn't have any information for me!"

"That was when we were asking him about Gene," Simon pointed out, "this is about what he did to DI Stone."

"It's just another bloody ruse to take the piss out of me," Robin said crossly.

"Yeah, I know," said Simon, "they were wise to that. Which is why they're charging him with obstructing the course of justice too."

"They are?" Alex nodded in approval. "Gene's new team are learning quickly."

"The problem is, they need to know what to do now," Simon said, indicating the phone, "they've got enough to stick to charge hm. But he's flashing theoretical cash around and his super is putting the pressure on to let him out on bail."

"Then do it," said Alex.

Robin and Simon looked at her in confusion.

"What?" Simon frowned.

"Why would you do that?" cried Robin.

"It's the last thing he'll expect," Alex told them, "think about it; if we deny him bail and keep him in a cell he'll vanish quicker than a roll of toilet paper after Gene's tried to make a curry. If we turn him lose it'll throw him completely. If he has to vanish from a cell he could vanish completely. If we let him lose on bail there's more chance of him going straight back to work and at least being able to keep track of where he is. It's not as though the cell is going to hold him anyway."

Simon and Robin glanced at one another.

"She's got a point," Simon said.

Robins expression wasn't easy to read, contorting between worry, anger and disapproval.

"I hate the thought of him being back on the street," he mumbled, "where I could run into him at any time. Where he could pop up and confront any of us at any moment."

"He's going to do that anyway, Rob," Simon pointed out," he'll just do a disappearing act."

Alex made her decision.

"Tell them to release him," she said quickly, "Make him pay his bail. He's so bloody tight that he'll follow all his bail conditions so as not to waste his money."

Simon took his hand from the mouthpiece and spoke to Jake again.

"Alright," he said, "we've talked it over. You can release him on bail."

"Excuse me?" Simon glanced up to see an angry looking doctor standing next to him, "you can't use that here."

"Sorry," Simon said sheepishly.

"Oh relax, they'll realise the whole _mobile phone_ thing was an overreaction fifteen years from now," Robin said crossly. He recalled lying in his hospital bed during his brief, precious weeks back in the real world before Layton took his life away; browsing the internet on his phone whenever Kim wasn't with him, looking up the latest beardfic, voting in the Evan Shipping Poll, trolling on the beardfic kink meme… They were happy times indeed.

While he was busy reminiscing he had zoned out of the conversation Simon continued to have on the phone. When he started to pay attention again he saw Simon looking slightly annoyed.

"They won't let Jake or Marci sign him out on bail," he explained as he turned to Alex, "they want Gene or you."

"Me?" cried Alex, "it wasn't my arrest… not my case."

"They understand why Gene can't make it," Simon rolled his eyes, "you're the next best thing. Did you know they're calling you the Lioness?"

"They're what?" Alex frowned and sighed, "oh, give me the phone," she said, taking it from him and pacing the corridor as she tried to deal with the situation.

Robin looked at Simon, anxiety creasing his brow.

"I really don't like the idea of him being let loose," he said quietly.

"if we don't do it he'd just take matters into his own hands," Smon reminded him. Slightly drowned out by a '_snap'_ from the crocodile he'd left on one of the chairs in the corridor. He glanced at it suspiciously,

"Did that… _thing_… just move on its own?" Robin demanded.

Simon hesitated.

"It… _may_ have snapped a little bit," he said awkwardly.

"_May have snapped?"_ Robin said sarcastically, noticing the bunch of flowers and pile of visitor's magazines in pieces around where the damn thing sat, "I _told_ you, Si, I don't like that thing."

"Well maybe it doesn't like you either," Simon said indignantly. The crocodile was about the best thing he had in his life right then.

Alex walked back to them and handed Simon his phone. She looked fraught and resentful but nevertheless said,

"I've agreed to go back and sign his papers."

"Alex, you should be here with Gene," Robin said quietly.

"Believe me, I don't want to go anywhere," Alex shook her head, the thought of leaving Gene already breaking he hart, "but we can't let Gene's hard work go to waste either. Bringing these charges against Keats is important to him, the future of this world could depend on it." She nodded resolutely, "I can't let him down."

Slowly Simon and Robin nodded in agreement. They understood what she was saying.

"I don't like the idea of you facing Keats alone," said Simon.

"I'm a big girl now, they even let me drink occasionally you know."

"I'm not trying to be patronising! I'm worried about you," Simon told her, "look, one of us will come with you." he saw Robin's expression fill up with fear, "and it looks like it's going to be me."

Robin swallowed nervously. He tried to pull himself together.

"No, it's OK –" he began but Simon shook his head.

"You already faced him once today," he said.

"I'll survive." Robin said quietly.

"_Keats_ might not, I heard about you and the water," Simon told him.

Robin looked away, a little ashamed of his angry impulse.

"Sorry," he mumbled, "he just got me riled up."

"Someone needs to stay with Gene, in case anything happens," Alex said quietly, "you're the least emotionally involved here. You'll be more level-headed. You should stay."

"It's OK –"

"I'll get Simon to take the crocodile back to the station and leave it there," Alex's final offer was the one that sold it to Robin. He glanced at the crocodile who he felt sure had just mangled up a stethoscope.

"Alright," he said, "but make sure that _thing_ doesn't return when _you_ do."

"You have my word," Alex promised. She watched a little nervously as Simon collected his red wooden friend from the chair. "That thing's riding in the boot," she told him.

"_Snap,"_ Simon said resentfully.

Robin felt anxious as he watched them leave. He had to admit he felt some relief at not being the one to face Keats again. Once had been enough. But at the same time with Keats's bizarre words earlier on he couldn't stand to think what he might spout to Alex or Simon.

~xXx~

He'd done the best that he could.

He wasn't going to make the best first impression and he'd accepted that. He'd managed to get rid of the scent of _special brew_, washed up a bit and even stolen a smarter coat. Well, '_stolen'_ was a bit of a strong word. He'd found a bag of donated goods someone had left outside of a _Help the Homeless_ charity shop and since he was, technically, homeless and needed help it seemed fitting. Which, incidentally, is what the coat did.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, slipping his arms into the sleeves and straightening the collar a little.

He'd come to arrive at the address listed as belonging to a _Ms. A Drake_ in the phone book. There was only one. He just hoped it was the _right_ one. He wondered if he should have brought her flowers or something, but that wasn't a very Gene Hunt thing to do. He tried to buy her a bottle of wine but the man in the off license clearly knew him of old, threw a can of special brew at him and told him to _bugger the hell off._

Besides, she didn't even know him yet.

His nerves increased as he walked down the path. What the hell was he supposed to say to her? This was 2003, she hadn't even met Sam Tyler yet, so she had _no_ knowledge of his world… was that a good thing or a bad thing? What was Alex like in 2003 anyway? Was she in her late twenties… early thirties…?

He wouldn't be wondering for long. He was at the front door now.

There were very few things that scared Gene but the idea of facing a younger, ignorant Alex terrified him. She had no idea who he was. She had no idea what an important part of her life he was about to become. And yet here he was, storming into her life, turning up on her doorstep with the clothes from hell under a reasonably smart coat.

It took all his guts to press the doorbell. That was a more daunting prospect than staring down the barrel of a gun or even facing Geoff with an extra-large loofah. As the door slowly opened he took a deep breath, awaiting the moment when he'd look into her eyes and see no familiarity, no recognition; but instead she appeared to have grown a beard.

_"Yes?"_

"Oh bloody hell, _Beardy White,"_ Gene closed his eyes, his temper fraying.

"Do I know you?" Evan asked, stroking his beard.

Gene took a deep breath. He wanted to tell Evan that he'd soon be getting to know his fist but he couldn't get Alex's help from inside a cell so instead he said,

"Need to see Alex. Is she home?"

"Alex is away at her course until Tuesday," Evan told him.

Gene froze on the spot. Not being in was _not_ part of the plan_. Damnit,_ bugger it, _now_ what was he supposed to do?

"Of _course_ she is," Gene said through gritted teeth, "how stupid of me to let that slip me mind."

"Are you a colleague?" Evan asked.

Gene felt like someone grabbed him by the throat and squeezed all the breath from his body.

"Could say that," he mumbled.

"Well I'm sure you'll have the name for the training centre somewere," Evan told him, "she'll be back from Rugby late on Tuesday night."

"Rugby?" Gene repeated.

"Evan?" a croaky young female voice asked, "who is it?"

Evan turned around.

"Go back to bed, Scrap," he said. "I'll bring your ice cream right up."

Gene stared beyond Evan to the little girl on the stairs in plaid pyjamas.

"That's –" he began.

"My goddaughter," Evan said, "she has tonsillitis. I'm looking after her while her mother is away."

"Right," Gene cleared his throat uncomfortably. There she was again, the little girl whose mother he'd taken away from her. Fuck, so much guilt – "Rugby, you said?"

"That's right," Evan nodded.

Gene hung his head a little, thinking over the situation. He knew the training centre in Rugby; at least he assumed it was the same one. He didn't have time to wait around until Tuesday. He'd just have to pay her a visit while she was away.

"Appreciate yer help," Gene told Evan, "Don't appreciate yer facial hair though."

Evan looked stricken as Gene turned to walk away.

"I'll have you know that some people think my beard is…" he paused as he stroked it, "…_really nice."_

"Yeah, stupid ones," Gene mumbled as he carried on walking.

~xXx~

Bail.

He'd never imagined they would actually grant him bail. This had knocked Keats from his perch a little. He wasn't sure how to handle it. He'd been quite looking forward to the great escape. Instead, the only thing that had escaped was a large portion of his bank account. Still, he could make the best of any situation and there was always fun to be had.

"Very sporting of you, Alex," Keats smiled as she signed the papers, "to let me leave. Nice to know you feel you can trust me not to abscond." He tried to catch her eye so that his smirk would have its desired effect but she refused to look at him. It wasn't even through her contempt for the man, just through the fact that her head was elsewhere. Which was where she wanted to be; in hospital, by Gene's side, not signing away papers to complete Keats's release on bail. "I'm surprised you could find a window in your schedule for me," he continued, "though from what I've heard where there's a window you usually jump straight through."

He started to scowl. This was no fun. He couldn't seem to get a rise out of her at all. Even a dirty look or a scowl would have sufficed. But she just seemed blank, her expression devoid of emotion, her mind elsewhere as her worries took up all her thoughts.

"You'll need to report at ten tomorrow morning," she said flatly and quietly.

"No long lie-in for you tomorrow then?" Keats asked as Alex remained facing away from him, signing another sheet of paper then filling out a few extra details, "Well, I suppose it must be lonely in bed, all on your own, without the E.U. Lard Mountain lying by your side." He thought she might have paused in her writing, mind-word, but only for a split second. This wasn't going his way. "Still," he raised his eyebrow, "we all know what happens when Alex Drake gets lonely, don't we?" This time she definitely paused. The smile began to return to his face as he continued. "Must have been difficult for you. You'd been away from him for… what, how many months was it to you? Two? Three? Long time to be alone, Alex."

Alex hesitated for a few moments, then she gathered together the papers, neatened them into a pile by tapping them against the desk and turned around to give him a sarcastic smile.

"It certainly beats being alone forever like some people I could mention," she said simply, "Marci, please can you find Mister Keats's personal effects?"

"Um, sure," Marci wasn't sure what was going on but she knew she didn't want to become caught up in it. So far everything she'd heard about DCI Keats could have come under the title of _'stay well back'. _He needed a set of safety instructions, like a box of fireworks. She pitied the poor person who lit _his_ blue touch paper.

Keats carried on smiling as he watched her walk away.

"Very nice, your new girl," he said.

"She's not mine, she's working under DCI Hunt," Alex said bluntly.

"Oh," said Keats, almost sounding disappointed, "not your type then?" he noticed her expression flicker just slightly as his grin broadened. "I suppose not. I forgot you usually go for blondes."

Simon's eyes moved with confusion between the two of them as Marci returned holding a small bag that contained Keats's pen, keys and laminated autograph of Andrew Ridgeley.

"There," she said.

"Alright," Simon turned to the uniformed officers on standby, "just get him out of here."

Keats aimed one last smile at Alex, laced with intent.

"Whoever would have thought you and I had so much in common, eh?" he asked pleasantly as one officer grabbed him by the arm and another pushed him forward by the back of his neck. Alex's eyes followed him darkly from the room leaving Simon to ask,

"What the hell was that about?"

Alex took in a deep and calming breath which she let out slowly.

"The man doesn't know what he's saying," she told him quietly, "lost he plot." She swallowed and tried to pull herself together. "let's get back to the hospital, shall we?" but as she strode purposefully from the station to make her way to the car Simon couldn't shake that weird exchange from his mind. Keats seemed to know full well what he was saying. Simon, unfortunately, had no such luxury.

~xXx~

He was lucky he had enough money. He'd had a few odds and sods of money in his pockets and whist counting it some generous idiot had tossed a five pound note in his direction, assuming him to be a beggar. He'd spoilt the kind gesture somewhat by telling Gene to get a job, which Gene jad responded to quite eloquently by telling him to get a lobotomy.

He had _just_ enough; just enough money for a train ticket to Rugby. He'd shoved a collection of change over the counter and received his ticket. It was one way. He hoped the second leg of his journey would lead him straight to 1997 so he didn't bother with a return.

He slumped into a window seat and stared out as the train departed. His eyes felt so heavy, he hadn't slept a wink all night. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes as the motion of the train along the tracks rocked him to sleep like an overgrown baby, thoughts of finding Alex descending into dreams as he slipped away.

~X~

"_Sir, you can't sleep there."_

"Is it me bloody stop yet?" Gene mumbled as he rubbed his eyes.

"Getting on a train first might help."

Gene opened one eye.

"Where's the flaming train gone?" he cried.

"Over there, on platform three," said the station steward as he walked away.

Gene sat and stared out across the vast expanse of Manchester Piccadilly station; renovated, remodelled and really not where he was expecting to be. The date and time on the departure boards showed Gene that three years had passed in the blink of an eye.

"That," he growled, "was either the slowest pissing train I've ever been on, or," he swallowed. The world seemed to spin around him. "Or It's happened again. And I didn't even snuff it this time."

Familiar territory in an unfamiliar year.

Where the hell was he supposed to go from there?


	22. Chapter 21: Up and Down

**Chapter 21**

"Who am I now?" Gene mumbled, a small suitcase on wheels with a long handle standing by his side. It put him in mind rather of a strange looking giraffe you could pack your clothes in. Well, _that_ comparison was never going to help him look through the thing for clues. He felt a bit like he was gutting the creature as he opened the zip and started to look through but aside from clothes he found little else. There were a couple of shirts, a spare pair of trousers, a jumper that was thankfully as far removed from a _Shoebury special_ as possible and some underwear but nothing more helpful than that. He tried turning out his pockets instead which offered more help than the pull-along giraffe. First he found his driving license. He didn't think he looked much like an Edgar but he supposed he didn't get much of a say in the matter. The name reminded him of some _la-di-da_ posh toff, donning a monocle and fiddling with a handlebar moustache crying "_Oh, I say!"_ every few moments.

"What has this place turned me into?" he mumbled.

He was less scathing of Edgar when he found a fairly full wallet, a set of keys and papers for a rental car. Apparently _Edgar_ was only visiting and had decided not to take his own transport on this occasion.

"Well now," Gene mumbled to the world which had shifted the goalposts without him looking, "that's a new one. Falling asleep on a train. What happened, couldn't be buggered to kill me this time? Run out of ways to do me in? Or did the train crash into a bloody cow on the line while I was taking forty winks?" he shook his head as he thought about how much time had passed. "More like bloody thousands of winks."

He knew there was nothing to be gained from sitting around there. For one thing he was getting a little daunted by the massive regeneration work that had taken place at Piccadilly. It couldn't have looked more different to the last time he'd been there, which admittedly was in a different world, many years in the past.

He tried to get his head together. The last thing he'd been doing was heading to Rugby to find Alex. Well, unless her course ran for three years there was every possibility that she'd be at home right about then. Home or work, one or the other. Either way he needed to make his way back down south quicker than Keats would pounce on Ridgeley with a pen and paper.

Well, at least he would be a little more presentable for meeting Alex, he supposed. His clothes were smart, his hair brushed and he didn't smell like a scared cat had taken a leak over his attire on firework night. Well, maybe it was fate. Maybe finding Alex _was_ his route home and somehow the world knew she would never have taken him seriously as a park-bench hobo.

There were still one or two things he felt pressed to do before he'd set off on his journey back down south. He had hunger pangs and a prickling thirst to satisfy and his tongue felt like it had a four-foot layer of foam across it so seeking a toothbrush was a priority. But soon he'd find his rental car and take it for an extended spin.

"I'll find you this time, Bols," he muttered under his breath, "_pre-_Bols. Whatever you are."

He had a feeling that nickname was one to be avoided. After all, even now he hadn't quite managed to get over the 'wrong' Alex accusing him of calling her 'Bowls' and did not wish to bring crockery into the occasion.

~xXx~

Alex stared blankly out of the window as Simon drove her back to hospital. Her expression was strange and it concerned him greatly. It wasn't even the blistering panic and anxiety that he'd have expected to see about Gene's situation, it was a look of defeat, as though she had given up. _World: 1, Alex: 0_. She'd already been frantic about Gene but something about her confrontation with Keats had been the final straw.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

She turned slowly and gave him an incredulous look. He flinched and expected her to yell at him. Of _course_ she wasn't _alright_. He already knew that.

"I just want to get back to Gene," she said flatly.

"Of course," Simon said quietly, "of course you do." He stared mournfully in the rear view mirror; the lack of crocodile on the back seat making him feel saddened and alone. "I can't believe you made me leave my crocodile behind," he mumbled.

"Hospital's no place for snapping creatures," Alex said quietly, her heart not really in an argument.

"I would have thought it was the _perfect_ place," said Simon, "if he bit anyone's finger off they'd be in the right place to get it put back on."

Alex shook her head slowly.

"Don't, Simon," she said, "I've still got Gene's blood all over my clothes. I haven't got the stomach for jokes like that."

"Sorry," Simon said quietly. He gave a deep and lengthy sigh as he realised he was expecting her to snip back at him like Gene would. He actually missed it. He did nothing but complain about Gene picking on him most of the time but when he wasn't there to have a go at him Simon found himself really missing it. He glanced at Alex, still worried by the look on her face. "Keats really got to you, didn't he?"

Alex shuffled down in her seat and turned her had a little further away.

"I don't even want to _think_ about him right now," she said, "I just want to get to the hospital and find out how Gene is."

"Of course," Simon said quietly. He dropped the subject - the last thing Alex needed was to feel worse - but he didn't stop thinking about it.

~xxx~

Gene clutched his little brown bag full of muffins in one hand while he lugged his now-compacted giraffe along in the other. There was no _way_ he was going to pull the thing along by its long neck. Not unless he wanted to look like a soft, limp-wristed, cheese-brained flight attendant. He'd found a wash bag tucked away between his shirts so his teeth-cleaning mission had gone fairly well, apart from getting confused and using liquid soap instead of toothpaste at first. He still blew bubbles when he coughed. A quick visit to one of the food vendors later and his thirst and appetite had been sated. The coffee wasn't up to latte Land's standard, but then again, what _was?_

He stopped as he found the car. He stared at the registration on the paperwork and then back at the plate on the vehicle to make sure he had the right one.

"Plucked right from the scrap-heap," he complained as the blue car before him did _not_ meet his personal requirements. Oh, he missed his lovely Aston Martin; its sleek exterior, plush seats, excellent performance – speaking of which, he hadn't even had a chance to try persuading Alex to fumble with his gear stick in the damn thing yet. Now he _knew_ he needed to get home.

"_E-five-nine-nine…"_ he read the registration plate again and sighed, _"S-R-J, _bugger. These are me wheels" he shook his head, "poncy name like Edgar, I should be travelling in the back of a bloody limo," he said, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. The quicker he got in the damn car and started his journey the sooner he could find Alex and work out how to get home; to his _own_ car, his own life and – most importantly – to his own Alex too.

~xXx~

Robin's accusing glare hit Alex and Simon before they were even halfway down the corridor towards him,

_"I thought you were taking the damn thing back with you_," he cried,

"Taking what back?" frowned Alex.

"The _crocodile!"_

"We _did_," Simon pouted, "she made me leave it in my office."

"Then why's it sitting on that chair?" cried Robin, pointing to one of the hard grey plastic seats on which a red wooden object sat, snapping away.

Immediately Simon's eyes lit up with joy.

_"Rocky!"_ he cried, running towards it.

Robin's jaw dropped.

"Dear god, you have _named_ the beast?" he cried.

"Rocky the Croc," said Simon.

Robin groaned and leaned back against the wall, clutching a Styrofoam cup.

"Even the _lions_ were less daunting when I was going through my lion-taming phase," he said.

"I don't see what you've got against my croc," said Simon.

"As little as possible," said Robin, "come too close to that thing, you never know how many limbs you could lose."

"_Snap,"_ it said in Robin's direction.

Alex seemed oblivious to their disgruntled exchange.

"I'm going to find a doctor," she said quietly, "find out what's happening with Gene."

"There's been no news yet," Robin told her, "I think they're still running tests," but she was already moving too far away to hear.

Simon stopped marvelling over his reappearing crocodile and walked back to Robin slowly.

"I'm worried about her," he said quietly.

"Her fiancé's in a really bad way," Robin pointed out the obvious, "you can't expect her to be her usual self."

"No, it's more than that," Simon shook his head, "something Keats said –"

Robin bristled the second that name was mentioned.

"What's he said now?" he hissed.

"He was being his usual cryptic self," Simon told him quietly, "but whatever he was saying seemed to really affect her. Like it was the final straw. The look on her face..."

Robin frowned slightly.

"Well what _exactly_ did he say?" he asked, trying to block out the snapping noise from behind them.

"What did he say to _you_?" Simon countered.

"What?"

"Earlier on, when you talked to him. What _exactly_ did he say?" Simon asked, "because that seemed to upset Alex too."

Robin wasn't really sure.

"Just that… he could see things. On the other side." He shook his head. "I don't know whether to even believe him, but he certainly seemed to know what happened to Kim. The shooting." He paused. "Why? What did he say to Alex?"

"It wasn't all that clear," Simon told him, "he was talking in riddles –"

"Makes a change," Robin snorted.

"But I think he was making reference to Alex when she was back in two thousand and bollocks –" he flinched, "_twelve_. Two thousand and… oh for god's sake, Gene's not even here and –"

"I know," Robin said quietly , "don't worry about it."

Simon drew in his breath and let it out again very slowly. He tried to remember exactly what Keats had said.

"He was going on about her being lonely and separated from Gene," he said, "and then he started going on about Marci."

"What's Marci got to do with it?" frowned Robin, "I thought the interview was the first time he'd met her."

"It was," said Simon, "it sounded like he was about to give her the come-on but then he just went off on wild tangents."

Robin looked worried.

"Did he say anything else about _out there_?" he asked, "did he say anything about Kim?"

Simon shook his head.

"Just about Alex," he said.

Robin looked down.

"It's probably a load of bollocks anyway," he mumbled, "there's no way he could see the real world from here."

Simon shuffled on the spot.

"I don't know," he said quietly.

"I mean, It's only when you're alive… you get, messages and stuff, right?" Robin wasn't sure if he had the world pegged yet.

"Usually, yes," Simon said quietly.

Robin frowned.

"What do you mean '_usually'_?" he asked.

Simon hesitated.

"Well," he said quietly, "sometimes… when you were still out there…" he trailed off.

"What?" Robin asked nervously.

Simon looked at him.

"I had some… _stuff_," he said.

"Stuff?" Robin repeated with a frown. He took a step back, "Eugh, you'll need to get that treated with antibiotics."

"_No!"_ cried Simon, "I mean _messages_… I don't know how it was possible, for all the reasons you said..." He paused, "except the bit about the antibiotics. But I had things come through… I saw things on TV or heard them on the radio."

"How… is that possible?" Robin asked anxiously

"I don't know," Simon shook his head, "the only thing I could think of was that… maybe… because _you_ were still out there, something was linking us and I was picking up things.. through you." he looked away sadly, "but there's nothing linking us any more."

Robin still felt so much guilt toward Simon. He felt so anxious as he saw his his fraught expression that he shuddered and squeezed his cup too hard, spilling coffee all over his shirt.

"_Shit,"_ he mumbled, trying desperately to wipe it up.

"What is it with everyone and their coffee today?" cried Simon, "why can none of you seem to hold a coffee cup any more?"

Robin ignored that comment as he frantically tried to clean himself up. He scrubbed the worst of the coffee with a tissue, knowing full well it was going to leave a big stain, before he turned back to Simon.

"Even if that's true," he said, "that's you. How is _Keats_ getting a window to the world?"

Simon shook his head.

"He's been off his rocker, remember?" he said, "we've all joked about him turning crazy-dazy but what if that was just like a… step?"

"A step?"

"Toward some sort of transformation?" Simon said anxiously "let's face it, Rob, he's never been quite like the rest of us. We don't do any of that walking through walls crap. We do our job, we send people home or help them on to the pub. But he's…" he closed his eyes for a moment, "he's not quite the same. Not quite human."

Robin felt a terrible shudder travel right through his body from head to toe. He couldn't stand to think of the implications of that.

"What did he say to Alex that upset her so much?" he asked.

"I can't remember everything," Simon admitted, "it was a minute's exchange and then we got him off the premises as soon as possible." He sighed. "He said something about them sharing something in common though."

"Well that ought to do it," cried Robin, "no one wants to share anything in common with Keats. I've heard of people switching their brand of toothpaste because they found out he shared the same _great minty flavour_ that they used." He tried to block out the fact that he shared more in common with Keats than most.

They both fell silent as Alex returned. The guilty looks on their faces told her they'd been talking about her but she didn't ask. She'd rather not have known.

"Any news?" Simon asked.

"They're doing one final scan," Alex said quietly, "and then taking him into surgery. There's –" she flinched and swallowed as though trying to hold back nausea from her fear, "they believe there's bleeding inside his skull."

Simon closed his eyes and turned around

"_Shit,"_ he whispered. He didn't want the others to see the panic on his face. He was starting to feel angry with himself. He couldn't understand why he was finding this so difficult.

"Alex," Robin said seriously, "He's going to be fine. You know how stubborn he is. He's not going to let a bleed on the brain get the better of him. He'll fight it."

Alex couldn't reply; she couldn't even look at him. Her head was spinning in circles. She may as well have been the one with a bloodied skull for all the sense she was making of the situation.

Amongst all her worry and angst one thought was occurring to her; a deeply buried memory from years ago. She remembered a time when she'd been lying in a coma in 1983, her mind elsewhere but not back in the real world. It pained her to even think about it; those weeks spent thinking she was back home, struggling to deal with being away from the life she'd just started to love and from the man she trusted with her life and soul.

The memory throttled her heart a little as she thought about it. That was a dreadful time; the beginning of the darkest of her life. But the memory of her coma-in-a-coma has spurred her mind. She wondered if she was alone. Was she the only one who had been through something like that? She couldn't be sure but as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall she couldn't chase away one question –

"_Are you somewhere else right now, Gene?"_ she whispered.

~xXx~

Gene did _not_ like the car.

Shitty blue car + Gene did not mix. The handling was crap, the interior lumpy and it had a paintjob that looked like it had been administered by a bunch of five-year-olds with their fingerpaints. But as long as it got him back to London then it would be worth it.

His focus was on finding her. _Alex_. Alex circa 2006 this time. Bloody hell, how many Alexes was he going to encounter? He'd never quite managed to meet the one from 2003 but he'd encountered _the bearded one_ and Molly which was as close to her as anything. Wasn't he supposed to meet Alex 2003? He didn't have a clue. He didn't understand how any of this worked. Hell, his own world had complicated rules as it was, wherever he'd found himself had them in triplicate.

He just had to get down to London.

Had to find her.

Had to meet her.

Had to ask her, beg her for help.

Had to find a way to –

_Thump._

_Skid._

Stop.

One loud, thumping heart beat crashing in his ears. Two. Three.

Gene could not breathe. He could not move.

He did not dare to open his eyes because he knew the moment he did his world would crumble one time too many.

"_Tyler,"_ he whispered.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Oh come on, you knew full well that was going to happen! Although when I was looking for a video or LOM to double check the car details I misread a description and now - in my head - getting hit by a car is the least of Sam's problems… let's just say there's a world of difference between getting knocked down and getting knocked UP…**_

_**Huge thanks as always for reading and following this story, you are awesome x**_


	23. Chapter 22: Vague Recollections

**Chapter 22**

That face would haunt him eternally; the moment forever ingrained upon his mind and soul.

He should have realised. He knew he should have guessed. But in his defence he'd spent many years in Manchester, worked with many people and theoretically he could have found himself 'responsible' for the death or the accident of any one of them. But he still should have known it would be him.

_Sam Tyler._ Well of _course_. Sam might have been only one of many faces Gene had worked with but he was special. Had he been the first of the 'floaters'? He didn't remember anyone before him, but then again his memory hadn't been the best back then. He was fairly sure Sam had been the first to really influence him though. Perhaps before him no one had been strong enough to recall who they were after a while. Perhaps they just found themselves absorbed into the mess of souls.

Sam never had. He's been the first person to really shake up Gene and his world. And now Gene had shaken _Sam_ up, in the worst way possible.

His eyes were wide in horror as he crouched beside Sam's limp body, not a hint of consciousness staring back at him. He knew this was impossible, he knew he couldn't have been there to hit Sam and send him packing to the seventies. And while he knew that and was pretty damn certain now that this was neither his world nor the real world he didn't have any kind of grasp over where he _was_ or how tangible any of it actually was. And besides, even if it wasn't real it didn't take anything away from the desperate feeling of guilt and anguish he felt at seeing his friend lying there from an accident caused by his own careless driving.

Yes, he was sure that Sam had stepped back into his path. That idiot Tyler, his head always _was _in the clouds. But he also knew he was going too fast and paying little attention to anything except the desperate gnawing away in his mind to make his way to Alex. And now another one was down, another 'accident' added to his total.

_"Bloody hell, Tyler,"_ he breathed, closing his eyes and trying to hold back the nauseous feeling that washed over him as he watched the tiny trail of blood begin to trickle from Sam's ear. Another pool of red. Another reminder of the damage that he'd caused. He was on the verge of watching his muffins retreating in the opposite direction.

Oh shit – s_hit, shit, shit, shit, shit –_

Another one, more blood on his hands. And he knew that this was only the beginning of a nightmare for Sam. He'd never met anyone who struggled as much as Tyler to become acquainted with his world. Maybe because of how far he went back – it seemed to be further than most. Or maybe mentally and emotionally Sam just hadn't been as strong as someone like Alex, or as able to adjust.

Whatever the reason he knew that Sam was in for months upon months of struggling, or fighting, of distress and trauma, and then when he finally made it home what would the bloody fool do? Take his own life to get back to the place he'd been so desperate to escape.

God, he'd fucked Tyler up in the head, hadn't he? More than any of the others, Sam was the one that he'd screwed up.

And he was his friend. One of the only two friends Gene had ever really had. And yet he'd screwed him up so badly…

The guilt was overwhelming. It was crushing Gene so badly that he didn't know how to breathe any longer. He wanted it to be over. He just wanted to curl up in a corner and block everything from his mind – Sam, Simon, Kim, Robin – there was too much blood on his hands already. He'd screwed up their lives when they entered his world and now he'd become the one to send them on their merry way too.

So much guilt, so much pain… messing up Sam's head so badly that he jumped from a building to live his life in a place that wasn't 'real'… making Alex choose to be separated from her own flesh and blood forever so that she wouldn't be apart from him… dragging Simon from a loving relationship into a spiral of lonely depression… screwing up Kim's head so badly that she was devoid of emotion for 7 years… and now the latest trick to add to his repertoire was separating Robin from the love of his life at the time she needed him most.

He was supposed to help people… his _world_ was supposed to be there to help people; to allow the coppers whose heads were in a spin to work through their issues before they moved on. Well what about Gene? Now _his_ head was as messed up as Channel 5s early scheduling who was there to help _him?_

"Alex," he breathed. That was all he had left now; the thought of finding her and hoping that – somehow – she could help him out of this terrible tangle of guilt and confusion.

His eyes fixed upon Sam one last time as he got to his feet, trembling the whole time, and ran back to his car. He just had to leave him; he knew someone would call for an ambulance sooner or later and he knew exactly what journey Sam was about to take but right there and then it was his _own_ journey that Gene needed to resume; his journey down south and then, with any luck, to find the woman known as DI Alex Drake. If there was any trace of luck on his side, the next phase of his journey after _that_ would be home.

~xXx~

_Fingers moving across skin, tracing gentle lines_

_A breathy gasp, racing pulse, whisper of a name_

_Heat rising, sorrow falling_

_Soft lips, tender touch; a moment encased in a million emotions _

_A moment_

_One moment –_

~X~

"Alex? …_Alex? "_

Her eyes opened like her eyelids were blinds being pulled up at speed to let in the daylight. She blinked a couple of times and looked around in shock, unsure for a moment where she was or what she was doing. Her body ached from laying too long across the hard grey plastic chairs lined up in a row. It had seemed like a pretty good idea two hours earlier when she felt an overwhelming sense of exhaustion and needed to lay down before she fell down. Now that she felt like she'd been sleeping on a bed of nails all night the idea did not seem nearly as flawless.

"What time is it?" she mumbled as she glanced up and saw Simon crouch beside her.

"You're asking the wrong person," Simon said apologetically, "you're the only one of us who can still tell the time."

Alex gave a little sigh of sadness. It was true; she'd been dead on arrival. Her watch still worked perfectly. Robin and Simon had no sense of time any longer. A look at the clock on the wall in the corridor told her it was almost seven in the morning. Shit, they'd been waiting there all night for news on Gene.

"_Gene –"_ she muttered as she slowly righted herself, stretching out the kinks in her body and trying to ignore the throbbing muscles left from her uncomfortable snooze, "Shit, I didn't mean to actually fall asleep, I just wanted to lay down…"

"You needed it," Simon took a seat beside her, "you were almost falling over." He handed her a strong looking coffee that he'd bought from the vending machine which she took gratefully, her other hand pressed to her forehead.

"Has there been any news? She whispered.

"That's why I woke you," Simon said quietly "they're bringing him down in a few minutes."

"The surgery…?" Alex started to feel anxious. Why had she fallen asleep? Why hadn't she been awake to talk to the doctor?

"They stopped the bleeding in his brain," Simon told her quickly, "he's been in recovery for a while and now it's just wait and see," she noted how pained Simon's expression seemed. "There's no way of knowing how much damage has already been done."

Alex closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths as she tried to wake herself up a little. She wanted to be as alert as possible when Gene was brought back down. Facing her from the other side of the corridor Robin was dozing awkwardly, using Simon's jacket as a pillow. On a nearby seat, a red crocodile sat glaring in his direction. Alex frowned a little. She was starting to have her own doubts about the damn thing. She rubbed her left eye, realising she'd probably just smeared makeup all over her face and stared into her coffee.

"Maybe I can keep this one in the cup this time," she mumbled as she brought it to her lips and took a sip. It was strong, _so_ strong, so bitter. It helped her to focus a little, to bring her mind back to the present.

"Are you alright?" Simon asked.

Alex stared down.

"Just worried about Gene," she said quietly.

"You were groaning in your sleep."

"Was I?" Alex looked at him awkwardly, "Sorry. I was dreaming."

"Must have been a nightmare," Simon commented, "you sounded like you were in distress."

"I was _out_ of this dress," mumbled Alex.

"What?"

"Sorry?" Alex rubbed her eye again, "sorry, I'm overtired. I don't know what I'm saying." She woke up fairly abruptly as a doctor walked in their direction and she scrambled to her feet, spilling coffee and stepping on a random biro in her haste. "How is he?" she asked urgently before he had a chance to say anything.

The doctor addressed her seriously.

"Gene coped well with the surgery considering his condition," he said, "but it's still touch and go. We won't know for a while how well he will be able to recover."

"_Will_ he recover?" Alex asked in a whisper.

"He's stable for now.

"That's not answering my question."

The doctor gave a lengthy sigh as he looked at her sympathetically.

"I'm so sorry I can't be more reassuring," he said quietly, "but at the moment we can't say for certain what will happen. He's stable, and at the moment that is a positive to focus on. Surviving the surgery was the first step. You just have to stay strong for him and stay positive."

As Alex nodded and Simon bowed his head slightly with worry Robin finally awoke, disturbed by the voices. He slowly sat upright, brushed his hair from his eyes and found himself face to face with the crocodile,

"_Oh!"_ he jumped and scowled at it, "Simon, call your crocodile off," he demanded.

Simon glanced over to him.

"Gene's out of surgery" he said quietly.

Robin blinked a couple of times. He wasn't sure what the time was or how long he'd been asleep for.

"He is?" he asked, "how is he doing?"

"Stable, apparently," Simon said quietly as the sound of a trolley heading in their direction caught their attention.

_"Gene,"_ breathed Alex. Her feet started moving before she knew what she was doing and she found herself by his side, doubling back on herself as the trolley kept on moving towards his room in ICU.

"Family only," the doctor said apologetically as Simon and Robin attempted to follow Alex into the room.

"But I'm –" Simon froze. He knew what he wanted to say but he just couldn't bring himself to say it. After all, at any other time he'd be fighting the notion like crazy and trying to block it from his mind. But after catching a glimpse of Gene's battered face and bandaged head it seemed stupid to feel resentment towards him for what happened twenty years ago. Shared DNA or not, Gene had been a good friend to Simon, the kind of friend who might have thrown him against the occasional filing cabinet maybe, but only ever for his own good. Gene had been straight-talking and forced Simon to look in the mirror and pull his socks up more than once. And as much as sometimes Simon would have given anything to escape that world his friendship with Gene was one of the few positives.

"He _is_ family," Alex took matters out of Simon's hands. He looked at her in surprise, his eyes showing gratitude. He still felt extremely strange about their genetic connection and tried hard to distance himself from that fact but to his horror Gene's situation was starting to make him confront it. He lost a father and two sisters when he died. Now he found himself facing the prospect of losing the only family he had in this world.

The doctor looked from Alex to Simon and back.

"For now he can only have one visitor at a time," he said, "things are still risky and we need to keep interruptions to a minimum."

"I just want to see him for five minutes," Simon said.

"Let Alex see him first."

Simon looked around in surprise to find Robin next to him.

"Huh?"

"Let Alex see him," Robin said quietly, "come and get some breakfast."

"I couldn't eat anything right now," Simon shook his head.

"A coffee then."

"I don't want to join the coffee-spillers society," Simon told him.

"Look, Si, just let her have a few minutes first," Robin dropped his voice. He swallowed as he remembered his final few days in the real world after Kim's horrific shooting and surgery, needing to be by her side, practically barking like a feral dog at anyone who tried to remove him from the room, "she needs it."

Simon glanced at Alex who'd already taken a spot by his bed, her head bowed and her hands gripping his as various medical professionals hooked up monitors and machines. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

"OK," he said quietly. He could see who needed it more.

"Come to the canteen," Robin said again, "I'll buy you a coffee. And I'll cover your dry cleaning bill."

To Simon's surprise he found Robin's arm around his shoulders. He allowed Robin to lead him away down the corridor. While they might not have been in a relationship any more there was still a bond there; slowly turning into a close, supportive friendship. Simon was grateful for that one remainder of their connection. He drew strength from the arm around his shoulders as they walked silently along the corridor together until finally he paused and frowned. He turned his head slowly to one side to meet Robin's stare.

"Rob?"

"What?"

Simon hesitated.

"This had better not be some elaborate scheme to make me leave my bloody crocodile behind."

Robin smiled guiltily.

"Thought never crossed my mind," he lied.

~xXx~

Gene had lost track of how long he'd been driving. He'd lost track of how many miles. He'd lost track of how long it had been since he had any thought in his head apart from ones that led to guilt. He'd kept the radio on to listen for news about Sam, just waiting for words about a man being taken to hospital and whether or not anyone was tracking his vehicle but the closest he heard was when the station decided to play _Hit and Run_ which pissed him off tremendously.

He could hardly believe that he was once again heading back to the doorstep of the house that belonged to one Alex Drake. He'd only been there as few short hours ago and yet years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Suddenly things had gone so horribly wrong. No longer of the smart appearance he'd found himself donning when he awoke at the station, his hair was matted with swear, his skin grey with anxiety and his hands encased in the leather gloves he'd found in the glove compartment to hide the blood ingrained in his finger nails. Were they from Sam or from one of his earlier 'victims'? He didn't know.

_Just keep driving._

_Keep your eyes in the road._

_You're almost there._

He failed to reassure himself.

This wasn't a world he wanted to be a part of but the exit seemed to be moving further away all the time.

~xXx~

The sound of the bleeping machines was already starting to get on Alex's nerves and she'd only been sitting there for a few moments. She stared at Gene, the bruising on his face becoming increasingly obvious with each moment that passed as it began to come out more and more. The bandage around his head made her shudder. It might have been a very different kind of injury but he wasn't the first to have bandages around his skull. She thought about his hair, shaven to allow the surgeons to operate. What was he going to say about that?

"You'll probably make some comment about doing this every other month to save money on getting a haircut," she gave the saddest of smiles as she reached for his hand. She was surprised by how cold it felt to the touch and just for a moment she found herself checking that he was still breathing. She'd never seen him so lifeless. It was as though there was nothing left inside his shell. She couldn't explain why or how but just by looking at him she could see that Gene was elsewhere. That disturbed her deeply.

"If I speak, will you listen?" she whispered, "if I talk to you… if I tell you to come home… can you hear? Because I don't know where you are… and I don't know how things work here, Gene. It's not as though you have a body to go to in the reall world…" she paused and flinched, "not that it stopped Keats, of course. But I think you'd rather possess Simon's crocodile than leap into Layton." She closed her eyes for a second and concentrated on the feeling of Gene's hand between own. She squeezed it, she rubbed it gently, her fingers feeling all the little hairs, every vein, the rough patches on his skin. She felt like she needed to learn every part of him all over again so that she could remember it. Remember every inch. Just in case the worst should happen.

She bowed her head.

"I'm not giving you an option here, Gene," she said, her voice a little bolder, "you're going to wake up. You have to, because I'm not doing this on my own. I'm not running your bloody domain. _You're_ the Manc Lion, I can't lead your pride." There was a part of her that wanted to touch his face and stroke it softly but she feared hurting him more. Even though he was deeply unconscious she feared pain filtering through. "And it's not as though there's anyone else who can do it. Simon's only just starting to find his feet and Robin's got his hands full in uniform dealing with the slobber brigade. So you _have_ to come back. Otherwise there'll be no more armed bastards, no more cleaning up the streets and no more _pub."_

Her resolve began to weaken. There was one thing she had sternly told herself before she started to speak to him; '_you are not going to cry'_. Gene couldn't abide crying, he didn't know where to put his face when he saw even a hint of a tear. Even when _Alex_ was the one crying he was never really sure what to do and would generally make a few threats that usually involved spanking arses or the use of handcuffs to try to break her tears with frustrated laughter before enveloping her in a hug that he would fail to acknowledge a few hours later.

"If you don't come back I'm going to be _so angry_ with you, Gene Hunt," she tried to sound stern but the tears that pricked her eyes were starting to break through her voice as well, "I'll bloody kill you _myself_ when I get to the damn pub! I gave everything up to come back to you… to make sure I was never going to disappear again… I left my daughter, my godfather, my job, my life, my –" her voice waivered, "my _friends_… we lost our _baby_ to another world because I needed to get back here to you. And what Kim had to do to… to help me make it home…" that tipped her over the edge of the emotional cliff she'd been tip-toing across like a high-wire and hot, angry tears started to fall. She had given up on keeping he temper or holding back tears. All her emotions flooded out in one go.

"I'm here for good now, Gene, you _know_ that. And I'm not going to stay here on my own. We're supposed to be so bloody unbreakable, so _you_ … you make sure you break every rule wherever you are to get your bloody hairy backside back here," her voice raised by several decibels, "are you _listening_ to me, Gene Hunt?" She sat there staring at him, her chest rapidly expanding and contracting as she panted for breath following her exhausting tirade. She'd hoped that jumping on the '_hairy arse'_ bandwagon might just anger Gene into waking up and informing her at high volume that the sun shone from his hairless backside and she'd never made any complaints about it before. But he just lay there, still and silent.

As she watched him and the machines assisting his breathing and monitoring everything that his body was doing she couldn't help but feel that he was too far away to hear. How she knew, she couldn't explain. But she knew Gene was not _there_ right then inside that bruised and bloodied head. Wherever he was she could only hope and pray that enough of her words filtered through to draw him home. Living without Gene was not an option. She wasn't going to let him get away from her that easily.

~xXx~

"Yes?" Evan froze on the doorstep and frowned. "Do I know you?"

Gene cleared his throat a little awkwardly. He hoped not. He hoped Evan remembered little to nothing of the park bench dweller who'd rocked up on the doorstep what – to _him_ – was three years earlier.

"Alex," he growled, clearing his throat a little, "I'm here to see Alex."

"She's at work," Evan told him, "You are…?"

_Pissed off_, was Gene's first response but he managed to hold those words back.

"Patient," Gene told him, "need me head read. Too many years on the force, left me seeing truncheons every time I close my eyes."

Evan gulped nervously.

"Right," he said, "Yes, well, she doesn't see her clients at her home."

"Of _course_ she doesn't," Gene resisted every urge in his body to pull off that beard and teach the smug idiot a lesson, "so where _does_ she see her _clients?_" he wondered why Evan made her sound like a hairdresser.

"Surely they told you when they gave you the appointment," Evan started to step back a little, wary of the man's behaviour.

"Well they _did,"_ Gene began, "but I'm an 'ead case. Or I wouldn't be seeing her. So it seems to have slipped me mind. Are you _going_ to tell me where to attend me head appointment? Or am I going to make _you_ an appointment with a barber and a cut—throat razor?"

That just about sealed it for Evan. At least there was security on the door where Alex was working. All he had to protect him from Gene was a beard model application form. Plus it was school holiday time and he was looking after Molly while Alex worked and he didn't want to put the child at risk.

"It's the headquarters on Caplet Row," he said, "Metropolitan Police health and welfare department.

"Yer co-operation is much appreciated," Gene said sarcastically before he turned around. Evan watched with relief as he began to walk away but at the last minute he stopped, scowled and turned back round. "Did you just call my bottom _hairy?"_ he demanded.

_"What?"_ Evan's eyes opened wide_, "No!"_ He stepped backwards, his mouth dry, "I have no comments or thoughts about your posterior one way or the other!"

Gene eyed him suspiciously. He could have _sworn_ he heard a voice making assumptions about the _hair-to-skin_ ratio of his backside. Perhaps he actually _did_ need his head read. He threw Evan one last glare to keep him in check before nodding.

"Just checking," he scowled and turned his back again.

~xXx~

She scanned the list of appointments in her diary. She'd been so sure she didn't have one between her two o'clock and four o'clock and she'd only checked that morning. She was going to use that time to catch up on her paperwork.

"I thought I had this slot free," she complained to the young man who stood at her door.

"You did, but I'm afraid this gentleman wouldn't leave," the man told her nervously "he said it's an emergency and that you'd see him. He says you go way back."

"Well it would help if you'd give me his name?" she pulled the band from her long brunette locks and redid her doubled-up ponytail as a few rogue strands of hair fell around her face.

"He wouldn't say," he told her apologetically, "I mean, he told me his name but then his driving license had a different name written on it and I don't know which is the real one."

She rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Oh, let's just get this over with," she said, "show him in. I'll give him half an hour, then you can get security."

The young man nodded to her and hurried away. There was silence for a few moments then some angry grunting in the distance followed by a strange, metallic noise. It sounded a bit like the clanking of something hitting a filing cabinet. She wasn't sure what to make of that. Nervously she stepped away from the door a little and awaited the unexpected patient.

Just a few moments later a large, looming figure appeared at the doorway. His broad shoulders were hidden away beneath clothes he was clearly uncomfortable with; his fair hair looked like he hadn't washed it in weeks, his blue eyes focused and determinedly bore into hers as he stared upon her face and his hands were encased in leather gloves that he clenched together as though searching for a hint of familiarity.

She was taken aback by his appearance. There was something extremely powerful about his presence but hauntingly sad about his soul. Although he'd claimed they went 'way back' she couldn't place him at all.

"Do I know you?" she asked cluelessly.

He stared at her. He wasn't sure how to answer that.

"I don't know," he said, "But you're about to."

She took a step back nervously.

"I am, am I?"

He nodded.

"Even if you don't know me, I bloody know you –" he looked her up and down, "inside and out." He swallowed. "I'm in serious trouble, Bolly. I need yer help."

Quite instantaneously Alex felt as though he whole population of Britain walked across her grave with the strangest shudder she'd ever felt in her life.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

Gene didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to tell her. But his mind was very clear on the answer he longed to give if only he had the chance.

_Your future._


	24. Chapter 23: Who Are You?

**Chapter 23**

Alex stared at the man standing before her, torn between calling for security and wanting to know everything about him. She'd never felt a moment quite like it before, when the whole world seemed to stop turning around her, the universe silenced by a moment so peculiar that nothing else seemed to exist. As she studied him closely she still didn't recognise him but somewhere inside of her she had the strangest feeling that sent a shudder through her body. It was so strong that she felt sure that he'd notice.

"Sorry," she said quietly, "I think there's a draft in here."

She felt embarrassed by the strange reaction she'd given to his arrival and made a grand show of turning around and walking to the window before checking every inch of it to make sure it was closed.

Gene felt awkward as he stood just inside of the room. He closed the door, aware that Alex jumped just slightly and shot him a worried glance. He realised that as far as she was concerned he was a stranger who'd walked in off of the streets and could have been intending to do just about anything. He gave an involuntary sigh. His eyes scanned her from head to toe taking in her sensible hairstyle, her smart clothes and her shiny shoes. Every bit the professional; every bit - he had no doubt - the same Alex who showed up in his world all those years ago.

He realised with a second of sadness just how much he missed his own Alex; the 1997 version. She had something that _this_ Alex, the professional 21st century career woman, didn't have – a complete and total trust in him. What he would have done for a hint of that. Instead all he received were more worried glances as she gave up her window pretence, picked up a pen and a notebook and perched on her desk, carefully situating herself beside the telephone just in case the stranger should attempt to kill, damage or steal her or anything around her.

"Well," she began awkwardly, crossing her legs, "this is a highly unusual occurrence. And to be honest it's not something that I approve of."

Gene held up his hand in apology.

"Fair enough," he agreed.

"But since you're already here," Alex continued, her pen rising nervously to her lips, "I can give you a few minutes." She paused as she watched him grab a chair and tug it halfway across the floor, swinging it around in his hand as though it was nothing before he parked his backside on it and sat facing her with his legs wide apart. She began her page with a few notes about unnecessary displays of masculinity and an apparent need to advertise his bedroom goods before she asked, "So, can you give me your name?"

Gene hesitated. _Could_ he? He found himself at a loss for what to tell her. His driver's license was in the name of Edgar but his brain was Gene Hunt, no amount of paperwork was going to change that. However, he also knew he'd left a man he knew well lying in the road just a few hours earlier and come the following year he would be making appointments with that very same woman, telling her about the cornucopia of characters that he worked with when he'd spent time in another world. He didn't think it was a good idea for her to meet _Gene Hunt_ in 2006.

"Says Edgar on this thing," he pulled his drier's licence out and gave it a cursory glance.

"Alright Edgar," Alex began but Gene shook his head.

"Not me, though," he said, tucking it away in his pocket.

Alex tried to stay calm. She was used to the unusual. She was used to the more disturbed members of the force meeting with her and spilling their confused guts out to her in weekly sessions that left her with an aching head.

"Edgar, or whatever you like to be known by," she began, "I am a police psychologist. My services are here for members of the force and to be used in cases where a psychological profile of a suspect is necessary to help the progress of an investigation. Now, I'm sorry but if you're not going to talk to me then ths is a waste of my time and I'll have to ask you to –"

"I _am_ one," he said quickly.

Alex awaited a continuation that statement.

"One what?" she asked eventually.

"I'm a copper," said Gene, "I'm a copper who's losing it."

Alex studied his expression.

"For someone who's 'losing it' you seem remarkably calm," she observed.

Gene stared back. She was right. Despite everything he'd been through, despite knowing Sam Tyler was being assessed in hospital at that moment and the cops could come searching for him any time, despite knowing that - right then, not too far away - Evan was filling out his application for a certain beard modelling agency, he was suddenly calm. Calmer than he'd felt in days. The calmest since h'd awoken in this strange world.

It was Alex. Of _course_ it was Alex. That's what made the difference. It was never going to be down to anything or anyone else. Even though this wasn't _his_ Alex, her voice, her scent, the depth of her eyes were familiar enough to give him a warm sensation that filled his body. It was a touch of home.

"Don't let that fool you, Bols, in me head there's a full blown Olympic opening ceremony of crap going on."

"Bols?" Alex felt that shudder travel through her again. As she repeated his word she noticed he flinched a little at his mistake. He expected her to accuse him of describing her as a piece of crockery again.

"Sorry," he said slightly dismissively, "Alex. _Drake_. DCI Drake. _DI_ Drake…" he corrected and re-corrected himself over and over until he felt as though he didn't even know what her name was any more.

Alex gave a slightly nervous smile. The nickname was unfamiliar to her… she had never heard it before, of that she was certain, and yet it struck a chord with her so deep inside that she couldn't deny the shivers it sent through her from head to toe. She squirmed and shuffled a little as she tried to fight it back. There was a strange pull occurring to her unexpected patient that she couldn't understand. She saw numerous patents and colleagues on a daily basis, many of them younger, smarter and richer than the man who'd trundled into her office with an air of self-importance and a confusing array of comments but she had _never_ felt this kind of attraction to any of _them_ before. It was something that she couldn't explain. It wasn't in the way he looked, or the way he spoke, or the way he was dressed; it was something in his eyes. She felt self-conscious suddenly, perched on the desk, aware that her skirt wasn't the longest she'd ever worn. She climbed carefully to the floor, making sure that she didn't flash him an eyeful much to his disappointment before addressing him seriously.

"You say you are a member of the police force?" she asked.

Gene nodded.

"DCI, Fenchurch East CID," he said without thinking and then cursed himself. He knew that Alex wasn't based there in her old existence but she would doubtlessly have many contacts at the station. He could already see her mulling over his comment.

"I know a DCI Hedges and a DCI Huston," she said, "but I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure…" she hoped that this time he would reveal whatever his real name was but he didn't speak. With a sigh she looked at the clock. Time was wasting and she was getting nowhere with him. She decided to admit defeat on the name. "So," she said, "what can I help you with?"

Gene's eyes turned downward for a moment and his head hit his hands ashe took in a very deep breath.

"That's a bloody good question," he said. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, Luckily Alex could see that he wasn't just stalling and he wasn't expecting her to speak, he genuinely needed a few moments. Already she felt as though she could read him like a book. Her patience paid off as finally he drew together his courage and began to speak. "I'm a detective chief inspector," he said, "and I help other coppers. The mixed up ones. The troubled ones. They cone to me and I give them another chance."

"Are you sure you're not here to come after my job?" Alex used the joke to mask her nerves. She saw him give the vaguest smile she'd ever seen.

"I'm trapped, Bol-_Alex,"_ he corrected himself, "I'm stuck in a loop I can't get out of." He looked at her seriously, "that's what you do, isn't it? Help people who are trapped to find a way out?"

Alex stared at him. His posture spoke of someone who'd been through goodness knows _what_ trauma. He was trying to open up to her but she could see there were parts of his story that he was working hard to conceal.

"Well yes," she said, "It is what I do. But to help you I need you to trust me enough to tell me the truth."

"The truth?" Gene reached into his pocket and cursed. He thought for a moment that a flask would be waiting there. Of course it wasn't. _Stupid_, he admonished himself. "I get every waif and stray turning up on me doorstep. Might as well give them a saucer of milk and a tin of tuna. Already thinking of getting litter tray for them to crap in, state they leave the walls of the khazi. Take their bloody pens away next, stop them making a bloody Bayeux Tapestry with bog roll."

As interesting as this voyage into the toilet habits of his team was, Alex needed to know more about the man and his colleagues if she stood any chance of helping him.

"You say you get the troubled ones," she said, consulting her notes, "Is that the reason you're feeling trapped?" she taped her pen against the pad, "are you working with officers who have found it difficult to settle? Who have had to be moved on to a new position? Who have been in trouble maybe? Or those who have been injured on the job and need rehabilitation?"

"All of the above," said Gene. He shook his head. "That's not why I'm trapped." He looked down. What was he _doing_? What was he doing in _Alex's office_ and what was he doing _telling_ her this? "I'm supposed to help them," he said. He felt like he had nothing left to lose, "but all I see to do is mess their twisted brains up more."

"In what way?" frowned Alex. She leaned a little closer, drawn more than ever to this stranger whose words were so fascinating to her.

Gene stared at his hands as he clutched them together. He couldn't meet her stare.

"They come to me," he began quietly, "and they have to leave everything behind. Their bloody families. Friends, colleagues, the other members of their Bedroom Olympic Relay team." he noticed the smart, efficient Alex turning a strong shade of pink at those words. He supposed she wasn't used to hearing about such matters. _Or indulging in them_, he had to admit. The difference between _this_ Alex and the sensual woman that he shared his bed, his life and his station with back home was like a gulf. He had a feeling she didn't get out all that often. Between work and motherhood she didn't seem to have a lot of time left for anything else. "They…" he tried to work out a coded way to explain about his work. How could he put across the nature of his world without diving into territory that would lead her to calling the men in white coats? "They have to leave their old lives," he said, "_fast_. They don't get a choice. They get transferred in, don't get to say goodbye, next thing they know they've got their back against me filing cabinet and a measure of scotch in their hand."

Alex frowned. She bit thoughtfully on the end of her pen as she tried and failed to make sense of his words.

"Those do not sound like proper police protocols," she commented eventually.

Gene stared at her, longing for some kind of recollection in her eyes. Every now and then he would see a glimmer of something that he thought might be heading in the right direction but a moment later it would fade away to nothing.

"They come to me when things have gone wrong," he tried to explain, "when they deserve a second chance; when their life's turned into a big bad apple with a worm sticking his head out and making rude faces yer can't even see. And they stay wi' me until they're ready to get the next round in. "

Alex tapped her pen rhythmically against her notebook. She wished this stranger would talk to her properly but he seemed to be indulging in riddles. She wondered if he was simply wasting her time but there was something about him. In the way that he spoke he seemed too agitated and anxious for him to be winding her up or wasting her time. In her confusion she found herself absently tapping out _I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor,_ a song the man seemed oblivious to the existence of.

"So," she tried to summarise what he'd told her, "your team is made up of officers who have… faced struggles?" she wasn't sure if she had assessed that correctly, "something has gone wrong for them in their career so you take them on and you… become their mentor?"

Gene thought carefully for a few moments before eventually nodding.

"Near enough," he said.

"And this is making you feel trapped somehow," Alex went back to his earlier point, "in what _way_ does it make you feel trapped?"

Gene found himself gurning a little as his face contorted into different positions, trying desperately to find a way to explain the terrible cycle he was in.

"They all came to me," he began in slow, measured tones, "when they got hurt. _On the job_," he added to make it sound more like a normal situation, "injuries… they got hurt and couldn't do their jobs any more. So they came to me."

"You're working with people who have suffered injuries that prevent them from doing their job?" Alex asked, "are you running an administration team?"

"Do I _look_ like I've got a boner for paperwork?" Gene cried, then immediately wished he'd reeled that comment in, not least of which for the reason that her eyes moved immediately to the area in which he'd have had one if paperwork had actually affected him in that way. He felt himself burning up which wasn't like him. Usually he could be as brazen as he liked around Alex and knew she would give as good as she got, but this wasn't _his_ Alex. This was a stuffy career-woman version of Alex; pre-1981, pre-Gene, even pre-Sam's notes. The closest this Alex got to experiencing a decent lunchbox was when she packed Molly's each night before school.

"Then I don't understand what you're trying to say," she told him, "and if you're not ready to be straight with me than I'm afraid I'm limited in what I can do to help you." She started to feel very frustrated. It wasn't as though she was in the middle of a hostage negotiation or talking a man down from a roof – this was a man who had walked in from the streets and asked for help, yet now he was there he couldn't seem to be honest with her. "I need you to open up," she told him quietly.

"After me last comment that's the _last_ thing I need to do," Gene said, clenching his legs together, fully aware that the unexpected attention from _pre-Bolly_ had set off a reaction in that very area.

Alex made one last attempt at helping him. She felt a genuine draw to the man and couldn't leave him in need of help because he was clearly becoming more anxious as time went buy but she had paperwork to do and other clients to see.

"You're feeling trapped because you are caught in a job where you're no longer working with the public?" she tried, "you're not involved with the day-to-day running of police work? Your team are unable to carry out the same physical activity that an officer is required to in order to do their job effectively?"

Gene breathed out hard, practically huffing as he did so. Why was this so _difficult_?

"They've all had their moments," he said, "all got to that split second decision that was make or break for their 'ealth an' safety, ended up on the wrong side of it. Lost the lives they lived before. Came to me and I tried to help them but they missed their old lives too much. Didn't matter what I did, didn't make up for what they'd lost. And they missed their lives. Too much. Some of them got to go back, but by then the damage was done. They didn't know who they _were_ any more. Too much time away from their old lives… they didn't fit in any more. The rest of them? Never got to be who they _used_ to be again. Got depressed. One of them pickled himself more than _I_ did." He realised as he spoke that this was the connection between them all; the ones he'd encountered, the ones he'd hurt since he'd arrived in this strange dystopia – none of them had been the DOAs, they'd all been the 'floaters'. He almost smiled as he remembered Simon and Robin getting pissed off about that choice of phrase. He'd actually have given anything to pick their brains about freaky dimension-jumping, time travelling, parallel universe-related theories right about then.

"Go on."

Gene looked back to Alex. He must have been silent for a few minutes, he realised. Her look of concern prompted him to go on.

"Being with me screwed up the ones who got to go back," he said, "and being _stuck_ with me screwed up the ones who _didn't_. Whichever way, they end up in a bloody mess, Lady B." He flinched and silently cursed himself. _Damn, damn, damnit,_ why couldn't he stop using the nicknames? This wasn't _his_ Alex – she wasn't the woman he'd come to know. She wasn't even the same Alex who showed up in his world – _this_ was an Alex from two years before that and had clearly changed further in that time; building confidence, progressing with her work. _This_ Alex was far more nervous, far quieter than the one who had appeared in a skirt shorter than Ridgeley's fan club membership list.

"These officers… feel some kind of resentment for having to leave their old jobs?" she assumed, "and being moved into your team?"

Gene hesitated.

"One way to put it," he said.

"And they blame you for losing the life they were used to?" Alex asked gently. Her tone was different now. She knew she was getting somewhere and, as Gene caught her eye, so did he. "They hold you responsible for losing the life they once knew," she said quietly, "because you're the one in control of their destiny now."

This time it was Gene who felt the shudder go down his spine, Destiny was a strange choice of word. She couldn't have meant it in the same way that it struck him but he couldn't have found a better term himself.

"You're not bad at this psychiatry bollocks," he told her.

"It's called psychology," Alex corrected. She laid down her notebook as she continued. This was a strange situation indeed and defied the logic of the notebook. "You feel trapped in a cycle of blame," she told him gently, "the more you try to help them the closer they feel to you so the more they link you with their situation. They begin to focus the blame on you instead of the accident or the job that went wrong… whatever led to them moving out of their previous posts."

Gene stared down at his knees.

"Plot twist coming up, Drake," he said, "I _am_ responsible. Blood on me hands. I can't stop it. No matter what I do. Every time I wake up I'm somewhere different. I'm there, at the moment life bit their arse so hard they couldn't bear to wear a pair o'pants again. And I'm the one to blame, every time."

Alex had no ideas how literally Gene was talking. She was used to people giving her analogies and assumed this to be the same. Literal or figurative, her words still captured the reason behind Gene's traumatic journey.

"You took on the blame willingly," she said quietly, "you absorb it like a sponge because it's part of your job. You're there for them to blame, to throw their anger and their frustration at, and that grinds you down."

Gene stared at her. He was about to argue that she'd misunderstood; that he was _literally_ to blame, but there was some truth in what she'd said. He _did_ take the blame, all too readily. All those comatose souls who arrived in his office, ranting and raving, shouting the odds, demanding their office back, their title back, their friends and their family back – their whole _lives_ back – and he couldn't give them any of those things. So he blustered through, chucked them against a filing cabinet, threw a scotch down their neck and turned a blind eye. He ignored their pleas, he pretended that they were talking a foreign language as far as _two-thousand and bollocks_ was concerned.

No wonder he'd 'forgotten' for all those years.

His life had been so much easier when he didn't know.

"Bloody hell, you're good," he admitted. He raised his hand to his forehead. It was starting to throb. He rubbed it as she tried to expand upon her suggestion.

"Over the years you've taken on so much guilt," she said quietly, "that you've reached a point where you have started to blame yourself. Inside your own mind you have become responsible. You feel responsible for their welfare after they've been entrusted to your care so you automatically feel responsible for the struggles they face. You feel like you've put them in that situation."

He bowed his head. She was right, Years before they would meet, she already knew him inside out. He felt his heart speeding up as he thought back over the past year or so. He'd changed. He'd changed enormously. So had the way he viewed his world. He supposed he'd started to feel the guilt and the negativity around the time Simon joined. Watching him slowly decay after being separated from Robin, delving into an existence of drink, pills and self-destruction, it had affected Gene more deeply than he'd ever wanted to admit.

That was the start of the downward spiral for him. Hot on the heels of that came Alex's soul splitting in two and once the halves had re-joined she'd told him how badly her time in his world had affected Kim. Listening to Alex talk about the dark times that girl had faced after she'd returned home, how she'd lost all sense of who she was for the best part of a decade, had made him begin to genuinely question his world. He had never done that before. His foundations had been shaken and although on the outside he was still the same brash and bullish figure he always had been, putting every new recruit in their place, while on the inside his belief in himself and his world was crumbling. He'd become weaker, he'd struggled to do his job, not just in the months Alex had been away but because he no longer believed inside that he was doing them any good.

He wasn't helping these people. He was destroying them inside.

'Inside your own mind you have become responsible' - that's what Alex had said. And that's where he was, inside his own mind. He was in a cycle created by his own head, inflicting the blame upon himself for every last one of them. He closed his eyes, the revelation settling over his shoulders and slowly sinking in. Finally it made sense, the reason why he found himself with their blood on his hands – because in his own mind that's what he had become – the one who'd caused them such terrible trauma. He may as well have been driving the cars, holding the knives, firing the guns – he was holding onto too much guilt. Now he was the one it was slowly destroying.

"Then," he began, his voice crackling a little as he spoke, "how can I put the guilt to bed and get on with me life again?"

He could see from the sympathetic look on Alex's face that the answer wasn't going to be simple. He heard the strains of music filtering through from somewhere outside of the building as a car stopped outside. It wasn't a song that he knew. He supposed it was a song that he'd be encountering a few years down the line – if he found a way to make it back home.

_#...There's no earthly way of knowing,_

_What's in your heart when its' stopped going._

_The whole world shook,_

_The storm was blowing through you…#_

"You need to concentrate on the _good_," she told him gently, "look at the ways I which you've helped them. You need to work in blanking out the blame and the guilt because they are misplaced. You're _not_ responsible for what's happened to your men. You are only responsible for caring too much."

Gene felt frozen by her gaze. Even there, back before they'd 'met', there was a connection - but it was different. He was on Alex's home turf rather than the other way around; she wasn't feeling defiant and superior and he wasn't feeling in control. Meeting a woman he knew inside out under such different circumstances for both of them felt so very strange and caused a stirring sensation deep inside him. That wasn't the only thing stirring either.

_#...Waiting for god,_

_To stop this._

_I'm too young and,_

_And darkness._

_Everyone around you was corrupted, _

_Say something…#_

He felt his breathing deepen as he leaned slowly forward. His eyes were fixed on her lips as they parted just slightly. She tried to say something but seemed frozen by the moment too. His gaze travelled down her body where his eyes settled upon the hint of cleavage peeking out over her smart and sensible blouse. Usually that cleavage was his to focus on at any time he chose but this time he didn't dare stare for too long.

_#...There's no dignity in death,_

_To sell the world your last breath._

_You're still fighting over everything you left,_

_Oh…#_

"Who _are_ you?" she whispered.

Her eyes fixed upon his blue ones as he finally looked back from her chest to her face. He felt a lump in his throat. He knew what it was – it was a big jumble of all the words he desperately wanted to say to her but knew that he couldn't. _Shit_, he wasn't used to keeping things from Alex, _whichever_ Alex it happened to be. And this wasn't his Alex, but still the connection was there as though it had always run between them. Whatever place, whatever time, it was always going to be there.

And he missed her _so much_; he missed her so badly. It crippled him when he thought about how long it had been since he last saw her; since he last heard her voice or felt her lips pressed to his, since he last caught him in that smile, the one that told him the bedroom was going to be an interesting place later that day. It had felt like forever.

_#...I saw you standing at the gate,_

_When Marlon Brando passed away._

_You had that look upon your face, _

_Advertising Space._

_And no one learned from your mistakes,_

_The little profits go to waste._

_All that's left in any case,_

_Is advertising space…#_

And here she was – not _his_ Alex but the woman who soon become her. She was right there in front of him. He had to use every drop of willpower he had to resist the urge to draw closer to her, to touch her and tell her what they were going to become to each other one day. He tried to clear his throat but it was impossible.

He'd only been there for a short time but she already knew him. She already knew who he was. She already could see into his mind, his heart and his soul, and she had him pegged within minutes.

_#...Through your eyes the world was burning,_

_Please be gentle I'm still learning._

_He seemed to say, _

_As you kept turning up…#_

"Who am I?" He asked quietly, "I think _you_ know better than _I_ do, Bolly."

"Why did you call me that?" she whispered. It wasn't an angry comment. She wasn't annoyed or pissed off as her counterpart had been. There was something in her eyes. That word had given her a strange sensation again. It felt a lot like Déjà vu.

_#...They poisoned you with compromise,_

_At what point did you realize._

_Everybody loves your life,_

_But you…#_

He watched her lick her lips. She didn't even realise she was doing it. Something burned in the air; something crackled like a glitch in space and time, letting through a little glimpse of the future. Then just as the atmosphere between them began to burn the door opened and a young man entered, looking anxious.

"The half hour is up," he said nervously, "DI Drake, do you need security –"

"That won't be necessary," Alex said quickly, standing bolt upright and feeling her face start to burn as redness rose from the bottom up. She lifted her notebook and involuntarily fanned herself. It was a few moments before she realised what she was doing and stopped abruptly. She cleared her throat and gathered the top of her blouse together as though she felt self-conscious suddenly. "I'll finish up here." She waited for the man to leave but he seemed hesitant. "Can I have some privacy with my _patient_, please?" she said sternly.

The man seemed hesitant and guilty.

"Sorry," he said quietly and closed the door gently on his way out.

Alex closed her eyes and took a few very deep breaths, just trying to calm her racing pulse. What the _hell_ had just occurred? She'd never felt anything like it. She couldn't understand it in the slightest and from the look on the stranger's face neither could he. She licked her dry lips, swallowed and got to her feet where she retreated around the other side of her desk. She felt shocked with herself for what she'd almost done; the thought of leaning in and letting her lips seek out his was still burning in her mind. When was the last time she'd kissed someone? Two years ago? Three? A few dates with some boring twit she'd met on a course who had an interest in bicycle pumps and tornado sirens. _That_ hadn't lasted long. Her life had been devoid of passion since her daughter was born if she was honest. Before, even. Her ex-husband hadn't exactly been a burning flame in her life.

She shook her head slightly to dispel the thoughts in her mind and focused a nervous smile on the stranger.

"Well," she cleared her throat, "DCI…" she hesitated. She still didn't know his name. "Well, _sir_," she said solemnly, "I hope that you've been able to take something from this session today, but… I'm so sorry... you weren't booked in and I... I have other work I need to do…"

Gene stood up quickly; feeling flustered himself and fighting to keep his cool. He cleared his throat and looked her in the eye.

"I… you…" he wished he could get his thoughts together, "you've been truly helpful. DI Drake." He finally used the name by which she _expected_ strangers to address her. So why did that disappoint her?

"You don't seem satisfied?" she said quietly.

Gene closed his eyes for a moment.

"Still don't know how to get out of the trap in me head," he admitted.

Alex gave him a sad smile, then she reached into her drawer and pulled out a card. She flipped through a few pages in her diary and scanned down it with her finger, then wrote a few words and numbers on the back of the card.

"Here," she said.

"What's that?" Gene asked.

"Your appointment," Alex told him, "next week. Same time. A proper one this time though. No bursting in from the street." She paused, "and I'll need your name on the forms."

She held the card towards him and his eyes fixed upon it for a moment. With a little hesitation he reached forward and took it. His fingers brushed her just for a moment and a buzzing passed between them, electricity flowing through their veins. He stared at the card and almost smiled, then looked back at her and caught her eye.

"Just hope I'll be around to have me appointment," he said quietly, knowing full well something could fall on his head or his car could overturn at any time.

She looked anxious.

"That sounds like a desperate statement." she said and he realised what she meant.

"Bloody hellfire, woman, I'm not about to do myself in!" he cried, "I just… might be moving on by then." He felt a gnawing in his guts. When had he last eaten? It was those damn muffins, wasn't it? The muffins he now illogically linked with knocking down Sam Tyler. He'd never eat another muffin again. Well, with the possible exception of the great big bloody bastard chocolate ones in Latte Land. Presuming, of course that he'd ever get home. Never the less, his hunger was starting to build. His eyes skipped to Alex again, her body skinnier than he was used to. "Listen," he felt awkward but couldn't have forgiven himself if he hadn't even tried, "me guts are chewing on themselves and you look like you could do with something hot and meaty –" he realised that his usual turn of phrase wasn't going to go down well with Alex 2006 but it was too late now, "don't suppose you'd go for a burger and a beer with a stranger, would you?"

She gave him a slightly wobbly smile. His innuendo had gone right over her head.

"Thank you for the offer," she said, a little flustered, "but I'm afraid it wouldn't be ethical." She bit her lip a little, wishing that the whole _psychologist/patient_ issue wasn't in the equation. If only she hadn't given him that second appointment. _Damnit_ – too late to take the card back now though.

"Don't worry, I get it." Gene started to move toward the doorway, "can't do to be seen out with the headcases." He gave her a nod. "Can't blame me for trying though," he added.

She smiled back.

"Please take care," se sad, "and if you need me I'm on the end of a phone. The number's on the card."

Gene nodded and shuffled on the spot. They both fell silent, neither really wanting to say goodbye, neither really wanting the exchange to end. Finally Alex said awkwardly.

"Well. Paperwork won't do itself."

Gene nodded.

"Not got robots to do that for you yet in two thousand and bollocks?" he asked before he realised how stupid that must have sounded.

"No," she said incredulously, "not yet. Give it time. Maybe by two thousand and twelve."

"No bloody chance o'that, they're too busy taxing pasties," Gene told her before the expression on her face made him want to slap himself around the head. _Now_ he actually understood what it was like for those jelly-brains from the future. "I'll see myself out," he said hurriedly and made a quick exit before he could embarrass himself further.

Alex stared on after him as he left. She felt herself trembling slightly as she let out a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding. Her heart was pounding, her limbs shook and her head spun. What _was_ that? _Who_ was that? She hoped she would get the chance to find out when his next appointment arrived.

~xXx~

Gene's eyes fixated on his card as he walked from her office, along the corridor ad down several flights of stairs. Staring at the damn thing was all he could do to take his mind away from the very strange encounter he'd just had. He found himself shaking his head as he thought it over; an Alex he'd never met before who still managed to get inside his head every bit as well as the one who shared his bed. He felt very strange for having seen her, someone so familiar and yet not the person his mind equated her to being.

He stepped out of the building and the fresh air hit his lungs like a revelation. This was all in his head, wasn't it? Yet it was so real. No wonder he'd believed that it was. It was like the strangest dream he'd ever had.

His mind had become plagued by dark thoughts, _terribly_ dark thoughts that had built up over the last year or so. Doubts about his world, worries about what he was doing, guilt over the trauma those around him had suffered… Alex was right. He had taken on so much guilt that – in his own mind – he was responsible for their situations, every last one of them. He was responsible for splitting up lovers, separating families, ripping people away from the jobs, the lives and the people they loved. Of course, that wasn't true – he was only there to help them – but inside of his mind that was how his view had become distorted.

Was that what he needed to do? To find a way to dismiss the guilt; to let go of the self-blame and get back to being the strong Manc Lion that he'd allowed to slowly fade away? Would that see him find his way home?

The car that struck him hard as he crossed the road absently, eyes still focused on the card before him, certainly wasn't his ticket back.

He didn't even see it. Didn't hear it. It came out of nowhere – _whoompf_ – almost like a piece of poetic justice considering what he'd done just hours before. As his body bounced, spun and landed with a thud he felt pain in every limb before his mind went black and nothing existed for him any more

X

There was a breeze. That was the first thing he felt.

That and the hard concrete beneath his face. He groaned and flinched as he slowly began to rise, his aching body fighting against him. He could hear traffic sounds but they seemed to be from quite a distance away and there was a smell of city life in the air.

He opened his eyes. The altitude made his head spin and his proximity to the sky filled him with anxiety.

To one side of him stood a figure; a man in a smart suit, there in body but his mind was wandering far away. Wandering to a place that he had become a part of. To a place he had learned to love. To a place that he had finally thought of as home; a place to which he was planning to return.

Blood slowly dripped from his hand. He barely noticed. He felt nothing.

As he tilted his head just a little, he smiled to the sky with thoughts of home on his mind.

The moment he started his sprint towards the edge of the roof was the moment Gene knew who it was.

He knew where he was.

He knew _when_ he was.

What he didn't know was what he was supposed to do as he watched the man who'd been his friend through so many years taking a run-up to move from one life into another.

"_Tyler!"_ his grim and guttural scream sounded out but the din of the traffic below muffled his word, and Sam couldn't hear him.

There was only one way he was heading.

Down.

Back.

And Gene could only watch as he disappeared from view.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Sorry for posting so late tonight; I've had a busy day doing a Kim and getting my eyebrow pierced :P Totally drained from this chapter so the next will probably be up on Monday!**_


	25. Chapter 24: X Over The Line

Chapter 24

Gene watched with nothing less than complete horror as Sam took a step that no one had ever taken before. As he jumped there was a moment of glorious freedom about him and just for a split second he could have been a soaring eagle in the sky but all to quickly disappeared from view as he spun and fell and tumbled through the air before landing with a sickening, bone-cracking, back-breaking thud on the tarmac below.

Gene scrambled to his feet, hardly able to keep himself steady and persuaded his limbs to take him to the edge if the roof, falling and flailing along the way. When he got to the edge he peered over and held on, his trembling body putting him in fear if accidentally following Sam over the side. The mess on the ground below made his stomach lurch and he gagged and spluttered at the sight of Sam Tyler's S_plat Territory _as Kim would name it many years later. He closed his eyes and swallowed very hard indeed, the sounds of screams and cries emanating from below as men and women flocked around the mess of broken limbs and blood that lay before them.

"Shit, Gladys, what the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" he panted for oxygen as he seemed to lose the ability to breathe normally. He already knew Sam had taken his own life to get back to his world. That wasn't news to him. The graphic demonstration – complete with sound effects – _was_, however. He clutched a hand to his chest and felt his heart pounding. Shit, could there have even been a worse way to go? He'd suffered just about every variation of death in existence over the last few days but the one he'd just seen Sam accept as his fate was the worst by far.

He could hear people yelling about the calling of an ambulance and others begging someone to call the police before someone else politely informed then that this was police property and everyone gathered around the body happened to _work_ for the force. He glanced around and swallowed again. Fairly soon people would be swarming to the roof to check the spot from which Sam had jumped. If they found him up there they would most likely accuse him of _pushing_ the man. That would be bloody typical – the one time he hadn't caused the death at hand would be the one time they'd accuse him.

He found the roof exit and forced his shaking mass of bone and flesh down staircase after staircase, one after another, moving in one direction, down and out of the building. He didn't know where to go from there – he just knew he needed to get away. He left the building and stepped out in to the car park, listening to the anguished sounds of those who stumbled upon the body. He wanted to look…. No, that wasn't true, he didn't _want_ to look but he felt a compulsion to do so. Of _course_ he did – it was human nature. Just like when someone says "_Don't look over there!"_ – your first instinct is to turn your head. On this occasion it was Gene's own mind begging him not to look but he had to. He couldn't help himself. The horrible sight of Sam, limbs bent unnaturally and blood starting to flow around him, would haunt Gene forever.

He started walking, even though he didn't know where he was going to. He didn't exactly have a route in mind, he just kept walking in a big circle until he found himself back where he started, just in front of the building. Time had passed during his long detour. He'd been walking for half an hour. Now he watched as the ambulance crew scraped up what was left of Sam and covered it with a sheet before taking him away. He felt his lip quiver involuntarily and he turned away. He did not wish to see any more.

He took another walk, another long detour as his mind covered a million different worries and once again eventually found himself back in front the station. Another forty-five or fifty minutes had passed by this time; his walking slower and his route a little longer. Now there were many uniformed officers and sombre-looking detectives around the area, sealing it up with _Do Not Cross_ tape, pointing to the swirling pattern of red where Sam had landed. Gene turned away, bile jumping to his throat, and pulled his jacket around him as he embarked upon his third walk to nowhere at all. He didn't know what to do. He knew he couldn't keep going round in circles forever but he had no alternative plan of action. Here he was back in Manchester, he'd watched his friend take his own life and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Why was this time so different? Why wasn't he the one to cause his death, maybe by standing behind Sam when he arrived, only to _accidentally_ fall on him and knock him from the roof? That's what he would have guessed was coming.

He pulled his jacket around him, the nippy April air starting to bite as the day moved on and afternoon began heading into night. It wasn't for a long time after he'd arrived that he noticed his attire. It was wholly more familiar than anything he'd worn so far. In fact, he was pretty damn sure the suit was one of his, the tie _definitely_ was. No other bugger would wear it, that was for certain. He'd been on his third detour for thirty minutes when he dug his hands in his pockets and felt something else that was familiar.

He froze, stopping right where he stood, and pulled put a shiny silver item from within . He stared at it. There was a strange sensation building in his chest as he examined it. This was more than just familiar, it was the _ultimate_ token of familiarity. With shaking hands he unscrewed the cap, held the silver flask to his lips and allowed the burning liquid to tumble down his throat. He had to close his eyes to savour the moment; not the alcohol but the taste of his own life. He didn't know how to handle it. After so many days and nights roaming in unfamiliar years, to get a little of himself back was some sort of miracle.

He looked at the flask one last time before he re-screwed the cap and slipped it into his pocket. What was happening? Was he actually himself again? How could that _be?_ He was in two thousand and bollocks still, he wasn't back in the 90s. he'd just encountered Sam Tyler _splat_ territory – everything was becoming more confusing than ever.

He slid his hand into anther pocket and closed around another object. He hesitated momentarily before pulling it out and cautiously opening it up. He drew in a deep breath and turned his eyes to the sky, hardly believing the fact that his own arrest warrant was there in his hand.

One deep breath turned into two, then three. He just wanted to stand there and let the world fade away around him. He had his clothes, he had his ID and he had his scotch. But he still didn't have his home.

Where to go now? What to do? Where to go from there? His legs finally began to move again, taking him through the rest of his detour until he found himself back on familiar territory outside of the building again. There were no fewer officers gathered around it than the last time he'd stood there, all pointing at the splat pile, shaking their heads, wondering how someone who'd fought so hard to emerge from his coma could make a decision that way, but there was one face in the crowd that he had never expected to see.

Every inch of his body grew weak as he caught sight of her face. His heart began a series of loop-the-loops inside his chest and his head started to spin. It couldn't be –

But it was.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. This was it. He didn't know what was going to happen from there on in but he needed to speak to her. Things were moving apace now and he knew home was closer than ever.

X

"Were there any signs of something wrong beforehand?" Alex was trying hard not to look at the large red stain on the floor but it was difficult not to, "was he behaving strangely during his meeting? Withdrawn? Depressed? Anxious?"

"He'd been quiet," the gentlemen in front of her admitted, "it wasn't like him, he usually had input on any –"

"_Alex!"_

Alex's eyes moved to the side as she heard her name. Who the hell was calling for her when she was –

She froze as her eyes met a pair of blue ones focused firmly in her direction. The man beside her was still yacking away but all of a sudden she couldn't hear him, as though someone had turned down his volume. Shock crept across her brow which furrowed with confusion and her eyes glistened with familiarity as she focused upon the man in the suit who was striding purposefully towards her.

"_My god,"_ she breathed.

How long had it been since that oh-so-strange day; the day that he, him, the man with no name had wandered from the street and spilled to her his troubled mind? A year? Maybe more? Yes, about a year, give or take. That strange day, the electricity she'd never felt before… she had never forgotten it, not for a moment. She felt herself trembling on the spot as the sight of him turned her knees weak and her legs to jelly.

Suddenly he was there, right before her, right in front of her, just as close as he'd been during his lone appointment.

"You never came back," She whispered, recalling how she'd sat and waited that full hour, a week after the strangest day of her life. She swallowed nervously as she thought back to it; her eyes on the clock, watching his hour slip away, staring at the entry in her diary where a question mark stood instead of his name, a tiny '_not Edgar'_ written in pencil to remind her that his alias was not to be used. She remembered waiting for a call, for him to apologise for missing his appointment and to ask for another. She remembered waiting for the day that someone burst into her office again, threw various members of the building against filing cabinets and told her he needed her help again. For the day when someone waltzed into her life, called her myriad nicknames she'd never heard before and lit a spark in the air.

"I know," he said, barely aware of the drizzle that had started to fall around them. He watched her draw her jacket together as her eyes fixed upon him, "I couldn't. I wasn't there any more."

"I thought the worst," she whispered, hating herself for assuming that he had taken a terrible step; a step as severe as the man whose blood lay beside them.

Gene shook his head.

"I had to go away," he said.

"So what are you doing _here?"_ Alex demanded, her level of confusion hitting the roof, "I don't understand it. Why are you in Manchester? Why are you _here? Now?"_ she turned to the splat mark in the floor, "A man just took his _life_ –"

"I know," Gene said grimly.

"I'm needed here," Alex explained, "I was his psychologist, they need me to help them establish why –"

"My name is Gene Hunt."

Gene's words stopped her sentence in mid flow. It stopped every thought in her head and every motion in her body. Her face contorted into a look of disbelief while her brow creased as she tried to understand what he was telling her. Her head tilted slowly to one side and her mouth hung open as she replayed his words again and again.

"What?" she breathed eventually, disbelief in her voice.

"Gene Hunt," he repeated, "that's me. That's who I am."

Alex's lips moved but no words emerged. She turned from Gene to the spot on the ground where Sam had lain just a couple of hours earlier then turned to the man she'd been speaking with previously.

"Excuse me," she said, "can we finish this later? I-I need to speak to this gentleman." The man frowned and looked annoyed but nodded and walked away leaving a shocked Alex to face Gene again. "Sam…" she whispered, "he…"

Gene just nodded.

"I know," he said.

Alex flailed. She struggled for words. There were pages and pages sat on her desk back in London, there were tapes, there were whole conversations where that name, that _man_, had been in every single sentence.

"B-but you _can't_ be?" she breathed, "Sam Tyler was a deeply disturbed indivi-" she trailed away as Gene pulled his warrant card from his pocket and her frown increased as she took it slowly from him. Her eyes focused on his name, his photograph and then back to the man himself. She remembered every description of 'Gene' that Sam had given her. And he had given her _many_. Their sessions had revolved around that man. He was all Sam spoke about and as much as Alex had tried to help him work out what part of his psyche had manifested itself as the boorish, bullish, pickled bigot that drove Sam to distraction she had never been able to figure that one out.

Perhaps because rather than being inside a dead man's psyche he was standing there in front of her.

"Is this…. Some kind of a sick joke?" she whispered.

"Do I _look_ like I'm laughing me knackers blue?" Gene demanded.

Alex stared on, her head shaking slightly as she tried to work out what to say or what to do. Never in her life had she reached a moment of such strange and layered confusion with a side-order of mixed emotion as Gene stared at her, his eyes pleading with her to believe him.

"You're not real," she whispered, "I mean, Gene Hunt… is not real, Sam –"

"Sam bloody Tyler is more trouble than he's worth," Gene told her, "I bet he's told you a few stories about me. And you know what? They're all true too, but don't hold that against me." He took a deep breath as the drizzle grew heavier and his fair hair darkened with the water that slicked it down. "My name is Gene Hunt. I was attacked and woke up in two thousand and bollocks. Am I mad, in a coma or back in time? I think I'm probably all three, love."

"This… can't be happening," Alex shook her head as her legs weakened and she felt them slip away from beneath her.

As he watched her sink to the ground in a less-than-conscious heap Gene closed his eyes and cursed the known universe and everything in it.

"They're only supposed to bloody faint when _they're_ the ones who've gone back in _time!"_ he growled, "this is an unauthorised fainting, Bolly, d'you hear me?"

But Alex stayed right where she was with rain falling around her. With a sigh he shook his head and knelt down to scoop the familiar stranger up in his arms.

Some things, it seemed, were destined never to change.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: So I was apparently LYING THROUGH MY TEETH about not posting again until Monday because this chapter 'happened' in the space of about an hour this morning! What's really strange is I don't personally ship Alex and Gene, never have done, never will do but I feel differently about Gene and 2006/7 Alex and I'm totally shipping them! WTF?**_


	26. Chapter 25: You'll Never Believe This

**Chapter 25**

The room looked fuzzy and hazy as Alex slowly opened her eyes. There were shapes and colours but nothing that really made a lot of sense. She blinked a couple of times and things started to become a little clearer but one thing in the room brought her eyes into perfect focus.

"_Shit_," she cursed, "I was really hoping that was a very bad dream."

"Sorry," Gene sat on the floor in front of her with his knees bent and his flask in his hands, "wouldn't be the first time I've been described as a nightmare though.

She rose to an upright position, rubbing her eyes like she'd just awoken from an hour long nap.

"What happened? Where have you taken me?" she began to panic as she glanced round and saw a couch that appeared decades old in style. "Oh my god, what _year_ is this? Sam bloody Tyler and his stupid stories have gotten into my brain…"

"Relax, woman, it's still two thousand and bollocks," Gene told her and a hint of familiarity passed across her face. She remembered Gene using that phrase when they'd met before. It reminded her of that strange day and brought her more to mind of the man she'd felt so drawn to rather than the blinkered bully that Sam had droned on and on about. There were tapes of it, pages of it, hours filled with Sam pacing up and down, demanding to know why his mind had created such a walking nightmare – and why, now he was home, he wouldn't get him out of his head.

The man in question held out a silver flask in her direction. She looked at it suspiciously.

"What's in there?" she asked.

"Something to stop you going horizontal again," he told her, "as long as you don't have too much of it." He wagged it under her nose. "Take it."

"I don't usually drink in the day." She told him.

"Yer don't usually fall flat on yer face in the middle of the day either, do you?" Gene asked, his eyebrow rising.

She looked at him, then to his flask.

"That is a _very_ good point," she said as she took the flask, if still a little reluctantly. She looked at it warily and used her sleeve to ferociously wipe the top.

"I'm not _diseased!"_ Gene protested. Alex glanced at him then drew a long swig from the flask. Gene almost smiled as he saw her flinch a little. "Not much of a fan of scotch?" he asked, knowing that was something that would change with years of working together.

"Not really," she said, her voice a little raw from the strong alcohol. She handed the flask back to him pulling a face, "but I don't suppose I can expect a nice bottle of red instead." She looked around her, rubbing her eyes again. "Where _exactly_ have you taken me?" she asked.

"Will you stop making it sound like I've bloody _kidnapped_ you?" Gene told her, "god's sake, did you want me to leave you out in the rain for an early shower?"

"I'm starting to understand why Sam Tyler's head was in such a mess," she said with a sigh.

Gene took a sip from his flask and looked around.

"Someone left their garage open to the elements," he told her, "I've been… for a scenic walk," he recalled his three long detours, never quite being able to tear himself from the area, "walked past this place a few times. Looks like someone forgot to put a door on the thing."

After Alex had passed out Gene couldn't think what to do with her. He recalled a garage around the corner that he'd passed a few times. It seemed to be used for storage rather than parking. There was an old couch, a mattress on which Gene had laid her, a crusty looking fridge and what appeared to be an ice cream making machine. There were a some odd rolls of fabric at one side, and a lot of leaves across the floor.

Alex stared at him. She shook her head a little as she tried to tie up the man from Tyler's notes with the one she'd met the previous year.

"You'll have to forgive me if I seem a little confused," she began, "but that's only because… because…" she closed her eyes, "because I _am_ bloody confused. "

"Makes two of us," Gene told her.

"Sam Tyler claims that you were inside his head," Alex told him.

"He also once claimed he could hold his drink before he threw up all over me windscreen," Gene told her.

Alex swallowed. Her heart was absolutely pounding. None of this made sense.

"You told me you worked with damaged officers," she whispered, surprised to feel herself starting to shake, "was Sam one of them?"

"Could say that," Gene nodded, taking another swig.

"I wasn't aware Sam, had had any problems before his coma," Alex said, almost to herself. She looked at Gene, "well, this makes more sense to me now."

"You sure about that?"

Alex nodded.

"You were never a figment of his imagination at all," she said.

"Thanks for the existential confirmation." Gene said gruffly.

"He'd worked with you previously and must have somehow lost you from his conscious memory," Alex continued, her mind searching for the most logical explanation, "during his coma he brought you back into his thoughts and you became some kind of a symbol for his fight to wake up."

"That's a nice story, Bols," Gene said quietly, "shame it's not the right one."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked.

Gene sipped from his flask one last time before screwing the cap back on to preserve what was left.

"It's not that simple," Was all he would say.

Alex looked at gene. He had that same troubled look upon his face she'd seen the year before.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she asked.

"I wish I knew that," Gene's voice was low and grim.

"Well were you here to see Sam?"

"In a way."

"You're really bloody frustrating to talk to, do you know that?" Alex told him crossly.

"So much for the caring psychologist," Gene cried.

"I'm not your psychologist right now," she told him, "this isn't an appointment. You had one of those and you didn't keep it." He noticed that she sounded genuinely angry with him.

"I didn't have a choice," he told her, "I stepped out yer building and got a car up the backside."

"What are you talking about?"

"Came from nowhere, knocked me flying, everything went black and I woke up in time to see Tyler doing his birdman impersonation."

Alex froze. She stared at him.

"What are you saying?" she asked quietly, "You and Sam… were both hit by cars? And you saw him jump? Were you there earlier today?" she saw his expression laden with things he wasn't sure how to say, "what are you doing in Manchester anyway? When did you work with Sam Tyler?" The more questions she asked the less he was answering. A dark and eerie feeling began to creep over her shoulders. "Who _are_ you?"

Gene swallowed. He looked at her seriously.

"I was starting to wonder that meself," he told her.

"When did you work with Sam?" she whispered.

Gene closed his eyes.

"I worked with him from nineteen seventy three to nineteen eighty," he said slowly.

Alex stared at him, her mind working overtime.

"That," she began, "is impossible, he would only have been four in –"

"I worked with Sam Tyler from nineteen seventy three until nineteen eighty," Gene said again.

Alex felt her stomach churning with nervous confusion as his words finally sank in.

"Nineteen seventy three," she repeated and swallowed as all those notes and all those session started to come back to her. "But –" how had he known? How did he know the year Sam had constructed in his mind? "Have you spoken to Sam recently?" she demanded, "did you speak to him about his coma? Did he tell you about his dreams?"

"They weren't dreams," Gene told her seriously, his stare never faltering for a moment.

"When did you work with him?" she demanded, waggling her finger at him as he opened his mouth to speak, "and don't give me any of that seventy three crap again!" She watched as he just stared. "What?" she began to scowl, "why won't you give me the truth? It's not as though it will make any difference now. Sam's dead."

Gene swallowed.

"So am I," he said.

"What?" Alex's face almost folded in on itself. His words were chilling but made no sense to her. She drew in her breath. "Who are you really?" she whispered more questions, "When did you work with Sam? What year did you transfer to London?"

"Nineteen eighty one," Gene told her.

Alex's head was starting to throb.

"That's impossible, Sam didn't even join the police until nineteen eighty eight and he worked in Manchester his entire life!"

"Bolly, listen to me," Gene leaned forward.

"And why are you calling me that?" Alex began to feel scared. Here she was in a grim garage in a strange place with the strangest man she'd ever met – and that was despite the fact that her godfather was Evan White.

Gene hesitated. He needed to stop with the nicknames but it was such a hard habit to break. Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID again.

"I'm not from here," he told her, "bloody Tyler hasn't got the monopoly on time travel you know."

"Are you trying to tell me you're some kind of space cadet, slipping back and forth through wormholes?" Alex gave a mocking cry as she got to her feet, "you're wasting my time, just like you did that day back in London! And to think I spent so many weeks and months worrying about you, trying to track you down –"

Gene froze at the revelation.

"You did?"

"Thinking you'd done something to yourself," Alex continued, "thinking you'd done a… a… a Sam _Tyler_ because the pressures of work had gotten to you so much! I called Fenchurch East, the place you said you worked, they had no idea who I was _talking_ about! I tried to find out your name, tried to trace your car –"

This was a revelation to Gene who had no idea what would happen between the 'jumps' he'd been making, he just assumed the world would forget about him for all those months or years. Apparently not.

"I'm sorry," he said grimly.

"Why did you never come back?" Alex demanded, "I thought you wanted my help."

"Believe me, I've never needed it more," Gene told her.

"Then be _honest_ with me," she pleaded with him. Despite her worries about the strange situation she was in and her disbelief at his words, above everything she just wanted to help. She recalled how low and depressed he'd been the year before and now here he was again; a different place and a different situation but with the same sadness in his eyes. "I can't help you if you won't tell me the truth."

"You won't know the truth if yer not listening to it," Gene told her. He opened up his ID and passed it to her.

"I know your name," Alex told him crossly, "I just want to know your real story."

"Alex," he began seriously, "look at the date."

"What?"

"What date does that say?"

Alex stared at it, then back up at Gene. It didn't make any sense. No sense at all.

"I don't understand –"

"I'm from nineteen ninety seven, Drake," Gene told her, "I was on a bloody stake out, impounded a bunch o' wooden crocodiles and went to check a report of a body washed up at the dock. Someone clobbered me over the head and I woke up in two thousand and twelve with a wife I'd never met, a hole in me head and a bunch o' parking tickets."

"So now you're from the future?" Alex folded her arms.

"I'm from the past," Gene told her, "I woke up in the future, and I know what that sounds like. Believe me, I've been on the other side of it often enough." He saw her open her mouth to deliver another scathing comment but he wasn't going to listen. "I'm not part of this place, Bolly. Got me own world, some other place. They come to me when they need me and I help them best I can. Now I need someone to help _me."_

"I'm trying, Gene, but –"

"When I say I get the damaged ones I mean exactly that," he said, "literally. _Very_ literally. I get the ones whose brains have been smashed up in a car crash, whose guts have a knife in them," his voice almost shook as he added, "who've got a bullet hole in the head. They've lost their lives too soon. Or come bloody close to it. Just like Tyler." He looked at her very sincerely. "His body was out here. His mind? Well, I got stuck with that. Bringing his bloody puffy twenty first century forensics and ethics into me station. Took one look at him, and knew I was in for a nightmare. Course, he probably said the same thing about me."

There was an imperceptible smile in Alex's face.

"Yes," she said quietly, "he did."

"Might have got a filing cabinet or two in the back… might have taken one or two pranks from me team of jokers, might have driven me round the bloody U-bend with his by-the-book bollocks. But I can't deny he was a bloody good DI. And I was proud to have him on me team." He grunted, _"eventually."_

Alex stared on, scarcely believing what she'd heard. Echoes of everything Sam had told her now came from the other side of the story. It seemed unbelievable. She held her hands together and tried to stop them shaking. She had to test him. Had to find out for sure how much he knew.

"Sam Tyler went home –"

"In the middle of a job," Gene continued for her, "in a bloody tunnel if you want to be fussy. Couldn't have buggered off at a worse moment, bloody Gladys, existential crisis, vanishing back to two thousand and bollocks, leaving us in the lurch."

Alex's heart dropped right out of her body. At least, that's how she felt.

"How could you know that?" she whispered, "he… he told no one else but me… "

"Maybe because _I_ was the twat with a bullet in me leg screaming at him to bloody do something," said Gene.

"Screami-" Alex froze and swallowed, "He heard you," she whispered, "he used to hear you all the time, screaming for him… calling him back. You, and the girl…" she paused, testing him.

"DC Annie Cartwright," Gene sighed, "All very well for Tyler to do his bit for the feminist movement, persuading me to get a bird into me team, turns out all he wanted was to see the other side of her knicker elastic." He watched her mouth falling open slowly, "which he did, eventually." He nodded his head vaguely to one side. "He's there now. Probably peeling down her kecks and trying to remember which part he was supposed to stick it in, he wasn't exactly a hit with the ladies. Didn't have the Gene Genie charm."

"The –" Alex gulped as her eyes widened and her body started to feel weak again.

"One of a kind, I am," he continued, "And Tyler? Well, somehow Cartwright put up with all his poncey nonsense, used more of her face cream than _she_ did."

Alex felt herself shaking.

"What do you mean, 'he's there now'?" she whispered.

"What do you think he was doing on the roof?" asked Gene, "skydiving without a parachute?"

Alex swallowed,

"He wanted to get back to you," she whispered.

"Managed it too," he said as he saw her starting to weave, "oh bloody hell, you're not passing out on me again, I've left me smelling salts back in ninety seven, I'll have to use me sock if you're not careful."

In an attempt to halt any possible fainting spell before it began he reached out, grasped her shoulders and laid her back against the mattress.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" she cried.

"I'm not having you splitting yer head open on the bloody concrete floor!" Gene told her.

"So, what, I faint _once_ and I'm marked for life?" she pushed his hands away, "Well excuse me but I'd just had a bit of a shock!" she sat back up and held out her hand, "just give me the bloody flask. I'm sure that will do the job."

"Cheek of it," Gene grumbled surrendering it reluctantly and surprised by the vehemence with which she snatched it. "_Oi!"_ he saw her press it to her lips and gulp down several mouthfuls before he snatched it back, almost pulling her hand and her lips along with it. "Steady, I need that brain in one piece not sloshing around inside yer pretty head." He paused as his expression darkened. "I need help."

"Well one of us does," Alex told him, panting a little as the alcohol took her breath away, "I don't know what's worse, the things you're telling me or the fact that I'm starting to believe them."

"Well now you know how _I_ feel!" Gene cried, "it's a pain in the bulging backside when some twat turns up in yer station, jabbering about some other year, demanding their office back."

"You're not having my office," Alex began to get confused by the conversation.

"I don't _want_ yer office, I want mine back!"

"Well where is it?"

"Fenchurch East CID."

"You're not _in_ Fenchurch East CID, I checked!" Alex reminded him, "and I _keep_ checking because I've been so bloody worried about you. "

"Not Fenchurch East two thousand and bollocks, Fenchurch East nineteen ninety seven."

"So you're… what… retired?"

"How bloody old do you think I _am?_ I've got the body of a thirty year old."

"And the brain of a twelve year old boy from what I've heard."

"You shouldn't believe everything Tyler Tells you," Gene warned, "he told me I was a figment of his imagination."

"Well apparently you're now a part of _mine_," Alex said crossly. She reached out to grab his flask but he responded quickly by grasping her wrist and holding it firmly, enough to shock her into silence without ever hurting her.

"Does this _feel_ like a figment of your bloody imagination?" he asked her. He caught her in his stare and she couldn't move. She felt just the same pull to him that she had that previous year, their eyes locked in a stare that neither seemed able to break. Alex found herself breathing heavily, her head starting to spin just a little. Was it from the alcohol? That's what logic would suggest. But as she looked at him she realised it was from the look in his eyes and the strange sense of déjà vu inside her.

"Who are you?" she asked yet again. Her tongue skimmed around her lips, "and this time, whatever you tell me, I'll believe you."

He stared back at her, certain they were just going to end up in another loop of disbelief and confusion, but as he looked deep into her eyes he could see that she didn't want to fight any more, not with him and not with the truth. She pleaded with him silently to open up to her, to confide in her. His touch had been as real as anything she had felt in her life and as much as she hated to admit it so were his words. She knew the difference between someone who was delusional and someone who was simply lost. "Just _tell_ me," she pleaded.

Gene stared and swallowed. His grasp on her wrist loosened as he drew together his strength.

"I am Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt of the metropolitan police force, head of CID, Fenchurch East. But I'm also…" he sighed and placed his palm across his eyes desperately begging with unseen forces that, when he looked to her again, he wouldn't see disbelief on her face, "I'm also the one you go to when you've still got things to work out. Still got a life that needs living. When you leave yer world too soon." He breathed deeply. "They come to me. They grow. They learn. Then when they're ready to move on I take them where they need to go." He paused. "But this time it's me who's on the other end of this. _I'm_ the mug that's woken up somewhere I don't belong. And just like bloody Tyler I just want to get home." His heart sank as he concluded, "I'm lost. No idea where I am or how to get back. And I hate every bloody, miserable second of it."

There was silence. A lot of silence. A long time passed until finally he heard her speak. The words she spoke weren't ones he'd expected to hear.

"I'll help you."

He dropped his hand from his face and met her stare again. There was something different about it. A sense of pity. No, a sense of sadness. She reached out and laid her fingers against his hand and a bolt of electricity ran through him from her touch.

"What did you say?" he found himself shaking.

"I said I'll help you," she whispered. She took a deep breath. "Gene, I don't understand everything you've told me, and I don't know how to make sense of it either. But I want to help you. I'm _going_ to help you." she bit her lip. "it's what I do."

The cautious but reassuring smile she gave him sent sensations through his body like tiny electric shocks. For the first time since he awoke on this strange world full of tragedy, death and despair he started to feel like he had an ally and that he just might find a way out of his godforsaken horror. As the sky darkened quite suddenly to night and the stars came out to play he had a feeling his ticket home was closer than ever.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Expect me to go overboard with the writing this week. I'm escaping into this world for a bit. By the way, has anyone noticed what I've been doing with the chapter titles yet? :P**_


	27. Chapter 26: Zooming In on your World

**Chapter 26**

It was the strangest day of all time. Alex was very sure about that.

"I can't promise that I'll ever understand," she said quietly, "and this is all very difficult for me to believe. But I'm trying to."

Gene held up his hand.

"That's all I'm asking, he said, "just need a bit of your… disbelieving suspension or whatever it's called."

"Suspension of disbelief," Alex said quietly with a tiny smile.

"That sounds more like it.

"Disbelieving suspension sounds more like a good reason to get your car checked by a mechanic," Alex commented and the sighed, "which, incidentally, I had to do. I drove up here and my car more or less died on me. I'm stuck here overnight."

"Sorry," Gene said quietly.

Alex leaned back against the cold, stone wall of the garage and rubbed her temples.

"I'm supposed to be the bloody psychologist and I think I need my head read for believing this," she said. Gene didn't have any know-how of her psychology bollocks so he offered her the next best thing; his flask. Despite her earlier hesitation she was all too eager to accept a drink now. "Thank you." She took a couple of long swigs before she handed it back to him, her eyes fixed on him the whole time. "You know, I'd never have had a clue that it was you. _Gene Hunt._ From Sam's description I was expecting you to be three stone heavier with nicotine dripping from your eyebrows and a brewery strapped to your back."

"Been a while since Tyler made his grand entrance," said Gene, "I gave up smoking for the noble cause of starting again as a tribute to yer upcoming smoking ban. And," he glanced down at his waistline, "I get a bit more exercise these days than I used to," he couldn't help letting his eyes drop to her chest as he thought about his own Alex back home and the pleasant hours spent in the bedroom. "As for the portable brewery," he lifted his flask to his lips, "I've still got that" He took a swig and screwed the lid back on. "Can't have everything."

Alex looked at him; the man who superficially shared some similarities with the descriptions Sam had given but was so much more than that. She felt herself drawn to him more and more as he moments passed. There was so much she didn't know but wanted to. So much she needed to understand.

"Gene," she said quietly, "where are you from? The truth."

Gene stared at his flask and wished it was still full so that he could have downed the lot for courage. He rarely had to explain this particular matter. When he did, it was like getting a stab in the guts every time. All he could think about was the day that Keats had dragged the truth out of him, all those years ago. That wound was still raw.

"It's another plain," he began, his voice low and gravelly. He was exhausted and drained, and his throat raw from trying to argue his case. Now that Alex had at least started to believe the impossible he tried hard to relax a little as he explained, "some other world. Runs parallel to the real one, or… whatever this happens to be. Don't know how to explain it any better than that. I need to get home and consult me resident parallel universe experts about that one."

"You have those in nineteen ninety seven?" Alex smiled and raised an eyebrow, "I must join Fenchurch East."

"You _do,"_ Gene said without thinking, then flinched. Damnit, why had he already put away half that flask of scotch? He should have kept a more level head for this. "You _should,"_ he corrected loudly, hoping he'd gotten away with his sip, "you should join. Can't be staring into people's heads all yer life, can you?" He sighed as he looked down. He couldn't quite meet her eyes for this part. "When they die. When they're hurt. They come to me. I help them. Far too many of them."

"Are you trying to tell me this is some kind of… afterlife?" Alex choked a little on the suggestion.

"It's _another_ life," Gene corrected, "when they haven't had enough years of their own."

"But the people there… they're dead?" Alex asked, still with an incredulous tone.

"Most of them," Gene nodded.

Alex bit her lip.

"Am I supposed to believe Fenchurch East is heaven?" she asked.

"I bloody hope not," Gene shuddered, "woman we've got running the canteen with a backside _that_ size? She'll never found a cloud big enough to take her weight. And I'm not eating her sprouts for the rest of eternity." He lifted his flask again. "Besides, I'd be a half-cocked God at me peak. I enjoy me earthly delights a little too much for that."

"So who _are_ you then?" she asked quietly.

"Me?" Gene shook his head, "I'm some bloody fool who gives too many shits about them all."

"Sam said you were married?" Alex tried to find out more about him.

"_Was,"_ said Gene, "too soon, for all the wrong reasons." He shook his head, "didn't last."

"I'm sorry," said Alex.

"I'm not," Gene said quietly. He felt very strange as he dared to say, "I'm engaged now. Somehow got myself this," his voice wavered as he struggled to get through his words, "this piece of posh totty. Real piece of class, she is. Sixteen years since she came into me life and there's not a day goes by when I don't ask myself how I ended up with that on me arm."

Alex smiled softly.

"Good," she said, "I'm happy things worked out for you."

"I think you'd like her," Gene said quietly, "she's a lot like you." he felt himself choking just a little on his words. They were true in more ways than one. This Alex in front of him was so different in a lot of ways to his Alex back home, and yet in other ways it was almost like having her back.

"Do you have children?" she asked him.

"No," Gene caught himself, "_yes_… it's complicated."

"Sounds like a facebook status," Alex told him.

"Facebook?" Gene frowned, "is that when you slap someone in the 'ead with the 'O' section of an encyclopaedia?"

"No, not exactly," sighed Alex, "although sometimes when you spend too long on there you feel like slapping your _friends_ around the head with an encyclopaedia, O or otherwise." She paused, recalling Sam's notes about introducing Gene to 21st century concepts. This was perhaps less daunting – This was a Gene with almost 25 years on the one that Sam had known. He at least knew of the existence of the internet, so she guessed. "It's a website. Social media. You can add your friends to it and read what they've been doing."

"Oh great, add me friends, all two of them," Gene sighed, "that'll be a daily pleasure." He shook his head as he imagined sitting down and reading constant updates from Simon about his jumper spinning round in the washing machine, interspersed with Red Dwarf quotes. He paused. "Nothing to do with that human shite-pile they call _YouTube_ is it?"

"No," said Alex with a frown, "I didn't think they had YouTube in ninety seven."

"Two thousand and twelve," Gene said with a sigh, "Got a crash course in the future of technology. _And_ the future of the stressful art of being a member of the human race." He had no option but to take one more sip of scotch as he recalled his bad internet experience. "I don't think I'm cut out for the information superhighway. Why is that bloody _Astley_ man all over computer screens and why has he changed his name to Rick Roll?"

The laughter that came forth from Alex was so familiar, he could have been sitting there watching her counterpart ceasing up during one of their mutual insult sessions.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I'm sorry Gene. He's not _called_ Rick Roll. A Rickroll is when you make someone unsuspectingly watch the video to _Never Gonna Give You Up._ It's just what it's called.

"Well people need to _give up_ damn well doing _that_," said Gene, he folded his arms huffily, "Between him and that bloody flying cat I just about wanted to stick me head through the monitor."

Alex didn't know about a flying cat but never the less the pained expression on Gene's face made her laugh.

"Sam once told me," she began, "that he wished you would wake up in the twenty first century and see what it's like to be on the other side of it."

"Well he got his bloody wish, didn't he?" sighed Gene, "few decades late, but he got it in the end." He found himself reaching for another drink. "And another thing," he began, "why is everything porn?"

"I thought YouTube had a no porn policy," said Alex.

"No, I mean, why is _everything_ porn?" Gene repeated, "Nothing's sacred. Every single bloody video; the most ridiculous things, members of the general public were…" he felt himself getting hotter and didn't know if it was through embarrassment or fury, "_fapping away_ at them in the comments!"

"Ahh, yes, well," Alex began, "that's one of the things about the internet. It's proven unequivocally that someone, somewhere has to ability to… '_fap'_ about _anything_."

She felt a blush spread across her face. She wasn't used to talking about this sort of subject, especially not with a man she'd only just met. A man she found herself wanting to know more about, to get closer to. Dear _god_, even the thought of _fapping_ was crossing her mind. Her flushed cheeks were half-hidden in the dimness of the evening's arrival but nonetheless she grabbed for Gene's flask to take a long comforting swig.

"Seriously, Alex?" Gene continued, "_anything_? Is this what society becomes?"

Alex shrugged.

"Evolution has struck an interesting point," she said.

"I saw someone getting hot under the collar about the application of glue to a bloody airfix plane!" Gene cried.

"They still _make_ those?" asked Alex.

"I think you're missing me point," said Gene, "what's wrong with a bit o meat-mangling over a good healthy pair of tits?" he heard Alex splutter and choke as she took another sip at the wrong moment, "no, apparently tasteful nudes and a good dose of Page 3 isn't enough any more. These days you need… _hot sneezing action_ or _extreme toenail cutting_ to turn 'em on."

"Everyone's got their _thing_, Gene," Alex sighed, "it's just that… by its nature… the internet brings them out of the woodwork."

"Then they need to go back _in_ and live with the mice behind the skirting board," Gene mumbled, still distressed about some of the things he'd seen, "now I've heard of people _fapping_ to a 'hot babe nibbling on the end of her big toenail' me innocence has been lost forever. The only thing I didn't find was _Extreme Beard Farting_, and that's because there's no such thing."

"Well, just think yourself lucky that your own urges are limited to tasteful nudes and page three of _The Sun_," said Alex, "not everyone's are as mainstream." She clutched Gene's flask as she said, "My last boyfriend had as thing about tornado sirens."

Now _Gene_ was the one almost choking, and he wasn't even drinking at the time.

"_Tornado sirens?"_ he spluttered.

"He could only," she felt herself burning up, "_get excited_ to the sound of tornado sirens. Something about spending his late teens overseas."

Gene scowled as he remembered one of the videos he'd seen.

"I think I might have bloody found him on youtube," he scowled. "Is he…." He coughed a little, "still on the scene then?"

"No," Alex gave a distant smile, "I think we lasted three dates. He wasn't my type and I wasn't a tornado siren so…" she shook her head, "that was four years ago anyway."

"Four _years?"_ Gene frowned, "yer last boyfriend was four years ag- bloody _hell_, Bols, how have you not exploded yet?"

"What do you mean?"

"Going that long without a turn on the banana boat."

Alex didn't think it was possible for her face to burn any hotter than it already was, but she was wrong.

"This isn't a subject for discussion with a stranger," she said, "and besides, I _do_ have a pair of hands, you know." As soon as she'd said that she felt like slapping herself around the head. Where the _fuck_ had that come from? It wasn't like her. Those were not words she would usually say. Why was this stranger bringing out this kind of openness in her? More than that, why did she feel able to say something so downright outrageous?

"Yer not lonely though?" Gene asked, "hands can't take yer for a night on the town."

Alex managed to pull herself together for long enough to answer.

"I'm not lonely," she said, "I've got my daughter."

"Not the same though, is it?"

"And my godfather lives nearby."

"Not the same."

"And I go to the gym three nights a week."

"Oh, well that makes it alright then," Gene told her, "take the rowing machine home and cuddle up in bed with it, make sure you don't get a handlebar in an unmentionable place."

"I think you're thinking of an exercise bike," Alex informed him, "and besides, you didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"About children."

Gene looked down. He sighed distantly.

"No," he said, "I didn't."

Alex started to feel worried. Had she touched on a sore point?

"You… you don't need to answer if it's private, Gene," she said.

Gene shook his head.

"No, it's not," he said with a deep sigh, "We… me and me other half," he was careful not to drop her name, "we were having a baby. But things went wrong." He felt a ball of sadness growing in his chest, making it impossible to breathe. The look of sympathy on Alex's face was hard to take. He couldn't look her in the eye, knowing that she was going to be the one to carry that baby one day.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. She reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

Gene didn't want to dwell on the subject.

"And I've got a sort of… son." He flustered.

"A '_sort of'_ a son?"

Gene nodded.

"Didn't know, not until a few months ago. Grown up now."

"His mother didn't tell you?" Alex asked quietly.

"Couldn't," Gene said quietly, "same way that I couldn't come to me second appointment." He shook his head. "Time bollocks."

"Oh," Alex didn't know what to say to that.

"He works with me," Gene continued, "big bloody geek, Red Dwarf videos coming out of every orifice." He drained the rest of the scotch in his flask. "Sort of used to him though. Almost nice having him around, in a _wanting-to-pull-yer-teeth-out _kind of way." He looked down. "In fact, he was one of the ones I…" he flinched as he remembered those moments – seeing Simon's lifeless body in the car, watching the server crashing into his skull, the hospital corridor with Simon's nearest and dearest sobbing their hearts out, "one of the ones I…" he trailed off and swallowed, "…because that's why I found yer… needed help. That's not changed. I don't know how to get home and I don't know why I had to go through this pile of steaming pasty tax."

"What do you mean, he was _one of the ones you_…" she trailed away just as he'd done.

Gene looked down.

"Didn't happen that way the first time," he said, shaking his head, "none of them. It wasn't me… I wasn't there, I mean, not in whatever passed for their real world. I was just minding me own business in _mine_. Then I woke up here and I kept finding myself there, when they died… when they got hurt."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked, "what do you _really_ mean? You gave me such a clouded version last time…"

"Couldn't exactly tell you the truth," Gene told her, "didn't want to be carted off to the nuthouse." he looked down and shook his head. "It's the ones who went back," he said quietly, "all the ones who made it home. None of the ones who were dead on arrival." He went to drink from his flask again but found it empty. "Bollocks." He tipped it upside down as though to illustrate the point.

"Oh," Alex made a sound of disappointment, "I was hoping to have some more of that myself."

"Still distressed about yer siren-fapping ex?" Gene asked.

"_No,"_ Alex narrowed her eyes a little, "more distressed over the fact that you thought Rick Astley had changed his name to Rick Roll."

Gene sighed and tucked the bottle back into his pocket.

"Should have known better than to finish that off when I still had the worst bit to come," he said despondently. He'd been putting off the main part of his talk; going through the deaths of those he worked with and his part in them. He was already starting to relive them through flashbacks at the merest thought. "Think there's an off-licence round here somewhere if you felt like a moonlit walk through me old home town?"

"No, it's alright," Alex shook her head, "I probably shouldn't have any more anyway. I haven't had anything to eat all day, it's already gone to my head."

"Skipping meals will only lead to more fainting and an increase in pasty tax," said Gene, whose joke was wasted on Alex. Now he really knew what it was like to make jokes about the future to those who hadn't been there yet.

"I'd just received a phone call describing Sam Tyler as _'The largest Mancunian pavement pizza you'll ever see'_," Alex gagged, "after that I lost my appetite." But even as she spoke her stomach gave a loud groan.

"Doesn't sound like you've got that problem now," said Gene.

Alex's blush was hidden by the growing darkness.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"Anyway, you've not got the monopoly on hunger, y'know, I'm considering roasting that mattress."

"When did you last eat"?" asked Alex.

Gene remembered the muffins.

"Two thousand and six," he said.

Alex hesitated.

"Alright," she said eventually, "I think you've beaten me there."

Gene felt an awkwardness spreading through him as he cleared his throat. Was he really about to ask this? It seemed wrong in one way, but the question forced itself out before he could stop it.

"Look," he began, "as lovely as the heady atmosphere of Northern Garage Land has been I don't want to spend the rest of me life sitting between two rolls of material and wondering if something's going to crawl out of that fridge. Now I'm not as up with me local geography as I used to be but if you feel like sampling some of the local cuisine I've landed with a wallet full of cash this time and I might as well spend it before I fall off a giraffe and wake up operating a guillotine or something. You want to get something to eat?" he paused waiting for her to reply, and by 'reply;' he meant 'knock him back'. He couldn't see her expression in the darkness any longer but as seconds passed with no response he assumed that her reply was negative.

"Ok."

Gene thought he'd misheard.

"What?"

"That would be nice."

Gene hesitated and scratched his head.

"You're seriously telling me you're willing to go and fill your gut with a man who claims to be from both the past and the future, who 'kidnapped' you and dumped out on a stinky mattress and who made comments about hitting someone round the 'ead with an encyclopaedia?"

"You're right, I must be the crazy one," Alex told him, "I'll go and give myself a course of therapy immediately."

"Isn't talking to yerself supposed to be the first sign of madness?" Gene reminded her.

"The second," said Alex, "the first is talking to a man who's come from the inside of Sam Tyler's head."

The sky had grown dark so quickly outside that the light had all but disappeared now. Neither could see the other smile at her comment, but somehow they each knew. That connection was there; it was always there no matter who, where or when they were. Gene found that the most comforting thing he'd encountered since he'd first awoken.

"After working with Tyler for seven years _I_ was the one in the need of therapy," he commented.

Another long, drawn-out growl from Alex's stomach caused her to sigh in embarrassment and annoyance.

"If we're going to eat can we get out of here and find somewhere quickly?" she groaned, "before I die of humiliation?"

"Oh great, another body to add to me total," Gene commented. He reached out his hand and she could just about make it out in the darkness. "Alright, Drake, fine cuisine awaits." He paused as her hand gripped his and he helped her to her feet, "what do you feel like?"

Alex sighed.

"Anything but pizza," she said.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: So many thanks to everyone who's reviewed and put this story on alert – I really appreciate it, you're awesome and your support really keeps me going with this :) 1997 Alex is kind of running away with me though! Her part was supposed to be over by now :P Characters should respect the people writing them and stop doing their own thing!**_


	28. Chapter 27: Avoidance and Explanation

**Chapter 27**

It was bloody typical, Gene thought to himself as he watched the waiter pouring wine, of all the places there were to eat Alex had chosen an Italian restaurant. It wasn't exactly up to Luigi's standard but the coincidence was bizarre. She could have had her pick of places – Chinese, Indian, pubs, burger bars – nope, Italian it was.

It gave Gene a strange sense of déjà vu as he stared at Alex through his glass of red. He could have been back in 1981 all but for the lack of perm and reduction in blue eyeliner. It gave him a stirring to remember the first night Alex walked into Luigi's, all dressed up. It took his breath away. Now here she was, in her own home territory. _He_ was the stranger in a different time and place, and yet even with roles reversed red wine and Italian food seemed to be the order of the day.

"What?"

Gene shook himself a little to escape his daydream.

"What?"

"You were staring," Alex said.

Gene wondered if he'd made her uncomfortable. He cleared his throat gruffly and said,

"Sorry. Lost in me thoughts."

"Is it an improvement to being lost in Sam Tyler's?" Alex asked him as she lifted her glass and took a sip of the rich, red liquid.

Gene looked at her expression. She seemed so different in some ways to the Alex who had landed on his doorstep. It was strange to think about, but there was only a year or so between that very night and the day Layton sank a bullet through her brain. The Alex who'd arrived in his world was a different woman, and at first he'd assumed that it was simply because of her situation, her fear and her desperation to get home. But now he wasn't so sure. Some of the things she'd said set his mind going.

"You've had a few things to say about Sammy boy," he commented.

Alex bit her lip guiltily as she sat her glass back down.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I've probably been a little…" she paused, not sure what the end of her sentence actually was, "I… hope I've not insulted your friend too much. It's just, I'd never had a case like Sam before. For the last few months he's driven me crazy. I could never establish the cause behind his coma experience and was never able to get through to him to help him adjust to being back in the real world." She looked down. "When I got the call today…"

Gene noticed her whole expression fell. She didn't recall ever seeing her – _any_ version of Alex – so despondent before.

"What?" he prompted.

"I just felt," her voice was quieter now, "like I'd _failed_." She let out her breath and shook her head. "What kind of a psychologist was I if I couldn't help a man to get on with his life, especially since I'd missed any suicidal tendencies."

"That's because Sam wasn't suicidal," Gene said, "he just wanted to go to a place he belonged. Just like going to yer local." He lifted his glass. "Difference is, you only have to open the door. He had to take a different route."

Alex nodded slowly.

"I can see that now," she said quietly.

Gene wondered if that was the difference; had a year of stewing over Sam Tyler's death changed her? Had it shaken her faith in her skills? She was already showing signs of that frustration, even though she'd now _met_ the figment of Sam's imagination that she'd been trying to explain away. A year of dwelling on that must have taken its toll. No wonder she was so angry and resistant to her arrival in his world. he wondered how different things would have been if Alex had arrived with no knowledge of the place. How different would _she_ have been? There would probably not have been any of those explosive, passionate clashes in the early days. But then again, there would have been chemistry of a different kind. The fact she was sitting there, staring at him over her glass proved that much.

It was his world that had lured Sam back. And in Sam's suicide Alex's own life had changed long before she'd even entered his world.

"I bloody screwed _you_ up too," he mumbled under his breath,

Alex only caught half of his words.

"Who did you screw?" she frowned, wondering why he felt the need to tell her that information.

"No," Gene shook his head, "screwed _up_…" he had to be careful what he said, "I screwed him up," he covered, "me world… messed him up in the head." He sighed, "just like it does to everyone." He drank a lot of wine very quickly and took the bottle to refill his glass. He noticed Alex looking at him with some sympathy.

"You still haven't told me," she said quietly.

"Told you what?"

"What's happened since you've been here," Alex said quietly. She noticed Gene shuffling uncomfortably. "You've been very good at avoiding my question, you know."

"Hopefully I'll be good at avoiding the bloody pasty tax an' all," Gene told her.

"What _is_ the bloody pasty tax? That's all you've been going on about since…" Alex paused, "no, I don't want to know. You're just changing the subject again."

"What do you mean _again?"_ Gene demanded, "your stomach changed the subject last time."

"It was your empty flask that changed the subject," Alex told him, "and this is getting you nowhere. You want me to help, don't you?"

Gene looked down like a kid who'd just been scolded.

"Yes," he sighed.

"Then _talk_ to me." She saw his eyes lose their focus as the strain of his time since he awoke started to get to him. "Think about how much you've already confided in me," she reminded him, "can it really be that much worse?"

Gene huffed as he breathed out. This wasn't territory he wanted to cover but she was right; if he wanted her to help him then he really didn't have a lot of choice.

"I don't know what happened to me," he said seriously, "I know someone clobbered me, then everything went black."

"Probably one of your friends coming after you with the O section of the encyclopaedia," Alex suggested.

Gene raised a hint of a smile.

"I woke up in two thousand and twelve."

"That's impossible, it hasn't happened yet."

"It has for some people."

"Which people?"

"The ones that come from two thousand and twelve," said Gene, "I know one of them. He never warned me about all the Rickrolling and the fapping though. But then I suppose he didn't expect me to go on a time-travelling package holiday." He paused and swilled his wine around in his glass, staring into it. Anything to distract him from the words he was about to say. "He was the first one."

"The first one what?" Alex asked.

"That I killed." Gene became very aware that his words were met by stony silence. And why wouldn't they be? That was the last thing she was expecting him to say. His eyes slowly moved away from the glass to meet hers. The look of shock on her face hadn't been totally unexpected but it still hurt. "It's now how things were supposed to happen," he told her, "I wasn't the one who killed him. Not in his own world… whatever or wherever _that_ was."

He swilled his drink around despondently again and took a sip.

"Was?" Alex repeated, "so he's… he's one of your team?"

"Not exactly," said Gene, "got a team of his own. Runs the canine division. Batman. _Robin,"_ he corrected, "he'd been to me world before. He knew the score. Made it home, twice," he shook his head slowly, "but he couldn't beat a madman with a gun who filled him with holes." He was careful not to mention Layton. He wasn't sure what he could or couldn't say. If he ever got home he was going to employ Simon as his paradox tutor. "Found meself in two thousand and twelve just before he died. Like a great steaming idiot I thought I could stop it. Stormed in like the big man, grabbed the gun –" he sighed, "and fired it. Didn't mean to. Don't even know how it happened. But there was a hole in Robin's head and my finger was still on the trigger."

Alex was watching him, spellbound by his tale. She couldn't pretend to understand but his words were so compelling that she felt hooked on every word he said.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"I didn't know _what_ to do," Gene admitted, "Knew what happened in Batman's version of events and knew the neighbour would be banging out _nine nine nine_ on her phone. I ran, I didn't know where I was going, shot straight out into the path of a panda. _Car_," he added quickly to avoid any confusion, "not the bloody black and white lumbering idiots. I've had enough of zoo animals to last me a lifetime since this whole thing began."

"You were hit by another car?" Alex frowned, "what happened? Were you hurt?"

"Me pride was,"said Gene, "woke up as another person, with another ID and the worst jumper in existence apart from Shoebury's." he hung his head, "and that's who I was going to see next. Shoebury. _Simon._" He added a little reluctantly, "my son. I legged it from the hospital, jumped in the car that was supposed to be mine, drove right into a tall lanky bastard. And no, I don't mean Simon." He sighed. "Hit a tree. And a minute later the bloody thing fell down, just in time for this car to come speeding round the corner. It hit the thing, spun in the air so many times it looked like Sonic the bloody Hedgehog attacking a one of those robotic twats." He lifted up his glass. "I can still see them in there when I close me eyes. Battered like a couple of cods."

"Them?"

"The first coming of Batman," Gene said quietly, "I might have forgotten to mention me son is a raving poofter."

"Oh," Alex drew back awkwardly in her chair a little. She felt like cringing. She remembered Sam's stories of Gene's bigotry but hearing it for herself made her extremely uncomfortable.

"Oh _relax_ would you," sighed Gene, "I'm not about to suggest a night down Canal Street but I'm not the social arsehole I used to be. And that might not have been the best phrase to use under the circumstances…" he looked at her. "No one stays the same forever. People changed me. But some habits are hard to break." He drank some wine and put his glass back down before he continued. "I'd killed him. Simon. He's been to me world before an' all. As for Batman? This was his first go around. Clearly me world saw something it liked about him because it dragged him back, kicking and screaming. "

"And what about your son?" asked Alex, "Simon?"

"Dead," Gene said bluntly, "stuck in me world for good. Separated from the love of his geek-ridden life. Destroyed the prat. Went from teetotal to Pickled Shoebury in about three weeks. And after I managed to cause the death of me son and heir I had another _mishap_ and woke up under a shelf, preparing to cause his tragic accident as well." He sighed as he saw Alex looking at him curiously. "Simon was lucky enough to get a return ticket from his first trip back. Server fell on his head." He heard Alex splutter with laughter for a second before she was able to clamp her hand over her mouth, "I'll ignore that and put it down to bad judgement on an empty stomach and half a flask of scotch," he said.

"I'm sorry," Alex felt herself reddening, "it just caught me off guard. I'm really sorry…" she couldn't think of anything more shameful than laughing at the horrific accident that had befallen Gene's son and friend, but the imagery really wouldn't leave her alone and a constant giggle was on the edge of her tongue; she tried to bite it back.

"Sure you can imagine what happened next," Gene sighed, "I'd been demoted to handyman. I'd put in the shelf. Few minutes later there he was, flat-headed." He eyed her warily as she tried not to laugh, "for the first time I got to see what he was like _before_. Not like the messed up weakling me world turned him into." He shook his head, "another accident later, I woke up on a park bench, stinking of piss… pretty sure it wasn't even me own. Saw her over the other side of the park. Two men jumped her."

"Who?"

"Metal Mickey," said Gene, "Stringer." He sighed. He never used her real name, _ever_. "Kim."

"Another one of yours?" Alex asked quietly and Gene nodded.

"Think I messed _her_ life up most," he said, "she was with me for a year. When she went back she has to change her whole life, her name, her job… just in case someone followed her back," He stopped talking. Keats was a whole new can of worms and this wasn't the time to open it. "Spent seven years in some kind of personal nightmare. No bloody emotions. Couldn't feel a thing."

Alex swallowed.

"Like Sam," she whispered,

"Then she finally takes her life back." Gene continued, "goes back to the force, gets a ring on 'er finger, gets knocked up. And then what does my world do? Takes away her bloody one and only."

"Who"?

"Batman.

_"Robin?"_ Alex was starting to lose the tread, "but I thought you said –"

"Yeah, haven't quite got that bit figured out," Gene rubbed his temples as they started to ache, "but since she's a paid-up member of the KD Lang fan club I suppose it balances out."

"Are you trying to tell me she's gay too?" Alex frowned, "Then -?"

"Don't ask me, if _they_ can't explain it I've got no bloody chance." He sighed "besides, he wears the eyeliner and she wears the trousers so it's not that easy."

"Never is," sighed Alex. She paused. "Do you have _any_ heterosexual people working at your station?"

"Doesn't seem like it," said Gene, "thought maybe this was me punishment, for former crimes against the limp wristed members of society." He noticed that look on her face again. "Relax, I'm practicing irony."

"You might want to look up the meaning before you practice it."

Gene almost flinched. Dear _god_, there was banter building. He tried to keep focused on the fact that this was not _his_ Alex, but it was hard not to think of her in that way.

"Stringer once asked me if it _felt_ like a punishment." He shook his head. "Told her no. She said she thought maybe it was a learning curve. She was probably right." He paused. "Got more metal on her body than me Aston Martin but still has more brain cells than the lot of them put together." He looked down and ran a hand through his hair. "And there I was, in the park, pair of knife-wielding shitheads threatening her life. I should have learnt by now but I hadn't. Tackled them. Got the knife, but fell right into her."

"So _you_ stabbed her instead," Alex whispered. As his tale went on she felt more and more sympathy towards him. "Gene, you _do_ understand none of this is real, don't you?" she whispered.

"Truth is, I don't know what's real and what isn't any more," he said, "that's when I went looking for you. Knew if anyone could help you'd be the one. But I got on a train to Rugby and woke up in Manchester."

"Why Rugby?" asked Alex.

"Spoke to yer bearded keeper. He said you were on a training course.

"Oh," Alex nodded, "_ohhhh_…. Two thousand and three?"

Gene nodded.

"That's the one."

"Shame you didn't make it," she told him, "you could have saved me from coming second to a tornado siren."

Gene grunted a little. The siren-fapper had struck again.

"Can you hazard a guess what happened to me in Manchester?" he asked.

Alex looked at him sadly.

"I think I can," she whispered. To his immense surprise she reached across the table and took his hand. He looked at her in shock. Should he pull it away? He knew that this was wrong on one level but her touch felt so right, Shit, he'd missed that.

"I drove straight down," he said, his voice threatening to waver, "found you. Burst into yer office."

"And I tried to help you," Alex whispered.

"You _did_ help."

"But you're still here," Alex whispered, "so I couldn't have helped _that_ much."

"Not your fault," Gene told her, "I'd have kept me appointment if I could. But I stepped out into the path of a car that had it in for me and woke up on the roof in time to watch Tyler take a flying leap. Now _that_ one…" he took a deep breath, "that one I did _not_ cause." He paused, "except… that I did. Cos he was trying to get back. So I might not have pushed him over the edge, but I made a man take his own life." He looked back at Alex. "That's worse."

"Gene," Alex's second hand joined the first and she squeezed his tightly, "listen to me. Whatever you've been through it clearly isn't real. Not in the sense that _you_ feel it is. If it was then you'd have been arrested by now."

"Pretty difficult to arrest a man who keeps dying and waking up years away," said Gene.

"They arrested someone for Sam Tyler's hit and run," Alex told him, "and it wasn't you."

"But this world, wherever I am," Gene glanced around him, "it's real, isn't it? It'd have to be. You remembered me therapy session. You remembered _me."_

"It's pretty hard to forget you."

Alex was shocked that she had spoken. She felt a jolt in her chest as her heart beat extra hard and she drew back nervously, licking her lips and flushing bright red. Her mouth moved as she tried to think of something to say but to her great relief two plates of food arrived before them as their starters were served. She said a silent thank you to whatever food god had arranged for their meal to be ready at that second and tried not to meet Gene's eyes as she lifted her knife and fork.

They began to eat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. As though Gene's situation hadn't felt confusing enough at the start now the lines between Alexes were becoming blurred and the tangibility of the world he was in seemed to be wavering between solid and feeble. He still didn't know where to go from there. But he had good food and good company and for the first time he felt like his feet were on solid ground. He just hoped that solid ground would form the road home.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Don't worry, 1997 has not been abandoned, we'll be catching up with them tomorrow!**_


	29. Chapter 28: Better the Devil You Know

**Chapter 28**

They'd made it through their whole starter and most of their main course without saying a word, except for uttering their delight at the quality of the food and asking one another to pass the salt. There had been a strange atmosphere since things had become so intense and neither really knew how to break it but Gene couldn't stand the silence any longer either. He'd had enough of talking about himself and as strange as it sounded he actually knew very little about Alex's life before she found her way to his world – with the precarious situation they'd been in for so long he'd never asked and she'd never really told him – now he saw an opportunity to find out.

"I've bored you to tears about me world," he said, "tell me about the world of DI Alex Drake."

That was fine, he thought to himself. She was DI Alex Drake. That was a different person to DCI Alex Drake who'd shared his life for so many years. It was fine to find about about this Alex. They were not the same person. In fact, he was sure Simon could list five different examples from Red Dwarf of just such a situation. Hell, after living with Simon for months he could practically name them himself.

"There isn't a lot to tell," Alex said quietly. To begin with he thought that she was still simply reluctant to speak after the strange moment between them but as he looked at her he could see that she meant it sincerely. There really wasn't much to tell about her.

"What about your family?" he asked.

"There's only my daughter, Molly," she said Her eyes sparkled a little as she said her name, "just about to turn eleven. Far too smart a head on her shoulders."

"Where is she now?" Gene asked, already knowing the answer.

"My godfather's looking after her," she said, "he's a solicitor. Evan." She took a sip of her wine. "He's Molly's godfather too. He brought me up; my parents…" she flinched and looked down for a moment, "they died when I was young. They were killed." Her voice wobbled, "car bomb."

Gene flinched. _Great question, Hunt_, he admonished himself.

"Sorry," he said grimly.

"You might have heard of them," Alex said, "Tim and Caroline Price?"

Gene cleared his throat.

"Yes" he said, "names ring a bell." He loaded his fork with tagliatelle and shovelled it into his mouth, hardly chewing it before he swallowed it down. "What about friends? Yer love life? One that doesn't involve tornadoes."

"I have colleagues," Alex said a little hopefully as she finished the last of her lasagne.

"Is that all?" Gene frowned.

"I don't really have a lot of time for socialising," she said quietly and Gene realised he'd hit on another sore point.

"No, I suppose not," he said. He polished off the last of his pasta with a slurp and a gulp before he said, "work must keep you on yer toes."

"Eh –"

The noise Alex made came as a surprise to Gene. She both looked and sounded disappointed… reluctant… something wasn't quite right.

"You not enjoying yer work?" he frowned.

Alex sighed. She laid down her knife and fork and reached for her wine. She's already put away three glasses and her defences were falling fast. She wasn't used to drinking this much, but this was an exceptional situation and an exceptional night.

"I used to," she admitted, not quite able to meet Gene's eye. "I had the best of both worlds… working for the police force and using my psychology. But…" she sighed and shook her head. "sometimes I wish… I just wish…" she felt as though she came to the end of her words. She gave Gene a false smile. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does."

"It's not important, really.

"Tell me." He paused as he waited for her to continue. "Tell me or I'll give you a four hour lecture on what it's like to be stuck working with Sam bloody Tyler for seven years."

Alex gave a faint smile.

"I'm just being silly," she said, "and selfish, but sometimes I just wish that I was more… out there. In the thick of it" she sighed. "I spend half of my life behind my desk. That's not what I signed up for." She sat back as a waiter came to clear their plates and leave them with a dessert menu each, "I just feel stale, I suppose, Gene. Maybe I need to shake things up a bit." She lifted her glass. "I was thinking of writing a book."

Gene took a gulp from his own wine.

"I can guess who's going to be a main feature," he mumbled.

Alex lifted the desert menu and ran her finger around the edge.

"Are you getting dessert or just a coffee?" she asked.

"The day I miss dessert is the day I _know_ I've lost me marbles," Gene told her, "you'd better have one an' all. I'm determined to spend all this currency. If I wake up tomorrow in someone else's shoes and realise I had a free hundred quid that I didn't use I'll never forgive meself."

Alex pulled a face as she rubbed her stuffed belly.

"Not for me," she groaned, "I haven't got room."

"You'll have dessert even if I have to eat it for you."

"Then order yourself two."

"I bloody did once," Gene mumbled, remembering a time when the waiter had mistaken '_I'll have one too'_ for wanting two sliced of gateau, "think I'll stick to one if it's all the same to you."

The waiter soon approached again, notepad in hand.

"Would you like any coffees or dessert?" he asked.

"Two coffees, please," Alex smiled.

"And ice cream," said Gene.

"_Ice cream?"_ Alex said, a little indignantly, "Gene, are you _five?"_

"Ice cream is the dessert that unites all age groups, nationalities, races and classes," Gene told her. He frowned as the waiter began to walk away_. "And stick a flake in it!" _he called after him.

Alex buried her head in her hands with embarrassment as half the restaurant turned to stare disapprovingly and the other half began to laugh.

"I'm starting to feel more sympathy for Sam Tyler with every passing moment," she said.

**~xXx~**

**1997**

_The warmth of another body, not waking up alone just this once…_

_Lying there, waiting, willing someone to speak. Someone break the silence. Me or you, it doesn't matter._

_The hint of a smile, the warmth of the closest friendship, a bond that dipped deeper just for one night_

_Then the whisper._

"_I don't regret it."_

~x~

Simon paced down the corridor, somewhat annoyed. Things had been going so well between them, talking like they used to, opening up to each other, and although Robin made his position very clear Simon couldn't help but get his hopes up that something might once again grow between them. Then the canteen staff bought out a big vat of beans and Robin started sobbing his heart out.

Despite some efforts to find out why it distressed him so much Robin could only gasp things about missing Kim and no one understanding what it was like to have been a pregnant man and Simon had decided to leg it and look for his crocodile instead.

He found it sitting in the corridor, staring at him.

"There you are," he said unnecessarily.

"Snap," it replied.

Simon froze.

"Did you just answer me?" he demanded.

The crocodile stared and said nothing so Simon assumed he was just sleep deprived and imagining things. He picked up his crocodile and tucked it under his arm, then peered through the doorway of Gene's room. The sight of the unconscious Gene gave him the darkest feeling in the pit of his stomach. He took in a deep breath as he walked slowly inside. The rule was only one family member at a time and Alex was still in there but she was asleep. Did that matter? Maybe it was only one conscious family member at a time?

She seemed to be muttering in her sleep as her head rested against Gene's bed. He sighed. He really didn't want to wake her but he wanted to have a moment on his own with Gene. Even though she was asleep the thought that she might wake up while he was trying to say what was on his mind was excruciatingly embarrassing.

"Alex?" he said quietly. He knelt down beside her "Alex?"

"_Mmmm,"_ Alex's voice was contented and soft as he tried again to wake her.

"Alex, wake up," he said quietly. He listened with a frown as Alex mumbled some words. "Pardon?"

_"Neither do I,"_ Alex mumbled sleepily, then opened her eyes and woke up with a start. "What?"

"Neither do you what?" asked Simon.

"What?"

"That's what you just said," Simon told her, _"'neither do I'."_

"Neither do I what?" Alex frowned, blinking a few times as she slowly started to stir.

"I don't know, that's what I was asking _you!_ Oh _forget_ it," Simon sighed. He looked a little awkward. "Alex… I don't want to take you away from Gene but can I just have a few minutes?"

It took a moment for Alex to make sense of what was going on but eventually she nodded and yawned.

"Of course," she said as she got to her feet. She rubbed her neck and flinched a little. "Why did I have to fall asleep like that?" she mumbled, "I won't be able to straighten my neck all day." She looked down at Gene in the bed an her heart began to break. "I'll be back soon," she whispered gently, her fingers skimming his hand before she gave Simon a sympathetic smile and left the room.

Simon let out his breath and turned around slowly. Now that he was alone he really had to face it. There was nowhere else to look but at Gene's lifeless face. It was as though he wasn't in there at all. It pained Simon to see.

"What the hell are you doing to us, Gene?" he demanded, "_you_ can't be the one in the bloody coma. Leave that to the likes of me and Robin and Alex and Kim. You have no right to be unconscious! You've got to run CID. You can't do that from the hospital. They won't let you use your mobile phone for one thing!" his expression softened slightly. "Not that you've got one."

He sank into the chair. It was warm enough from where Alex had been sitting for so long but it was hard and uncomfortable.

"Bloody hospitals, he mumbled. He looked back at Gene and felt so horribly sick. The state of his battered face and the pallor of his skin shook Simon up. He wasn't used to seeing Gene that way, none of them were. The man who never showed weakness had been reduced to this; with machines keeping him alive. Simon moved back slightly in his chair. He felt a little daunted by the state of Gene and didn't want to get too close.

"So after a year and a half stuck in this place I get something approaching some kind of family and then you get our skull bashed in." Simon knew that his words were less than subtle but he thought Gene might appreciate them. Maybe communicating with him more on his level, using Gene Hunt language just might get through to wherever he was. "Look, I'm not exactly very good at this," he cleared his throat. "The most time I ever spent by someone's hospital bed was Alex's back out there and I hardly knew her. Unless you count when Robin got his arm stuck between the railings outside the fish and chip shop." He shook his head. "I'm used to you being around, alright? I don't like you being in here. You're supposed to be _out there_, ripping me to shreds and running CID with an iron fist. Not… stuck in bed with your head off in cloud cuckoo land." He sighed as he turned away. He just couldn't look at Gene any more. "Alex needs you. Everyone needs you. You spent half a year sleeping on my couch, and I don't care about what you've said about my jumper or all the shoe-shop jokes you've used or -" he flinched a little "- or about what happened with your hairy arse in nineteen seventy seven, I just –" he closed his eyes. "Just wake the fuck up OK?"

There was a slow clap from the doorway and Simon looked up in alarm to see the one person he'd never have expected to dare show his face.

"Really tugging at the old heart strings there, Simon," Keats smiled.

"It's family only," Simon spat as he jumped to his feet, "Oh yeah, so thanks for that. Because without your _research_ I wouldn't be allowed in."

"How very sentimental," Keats wiped a fake tear from his eye. "It's not like daddy dearest and I were that far away from being family anyway. If you and Robin had tied the knot, let's see, that would have made you my brother in law. And that would make Gene –"

"Pissed off?" Simon suggested angrily.

"- Some kind of… half-father–in-law or something," Keas guessed, "well, anyway, close enough to bring him these." He picked up a brown bag from between his feet and smiled.

"Don't tell me, grapes," Simon said angrily.

Keats sat them back on the ground.

"How did you guess?"

"Because it seems to be a theme with you," Simon said crossly, "for fuck's sake Keats, we just let you go a few hours ago, shouldn't you be sitting in your office, licking your wounds and working out who to victimise next?"

Encroaching footsteps that stopped as Alex arrived and stood in the doorway, shocked by Keats's arrival, caught their attention.

"Already decided on that," Keats smiled.

Alex's whole expression froze in shock and hatred, and Simon could see her fingers twisting like claws as her anger built up inside.

"What's he doing here?" she demanded furiously.

"Just visiting your dear fiancé," Keats smiled pleasantly, "thought he might like some grapes."

"Yes, they're the fruit of choice for the unconscious patient," Alex said angrily, "get out." She was shaking from head to toe, not with fear but with anger. How _dare_ he burst into an already heart-breaking situation? It was hard enough without his input.

"I'll speak to hospital security," Simon spat, "he won't be getting in again."

"I just wanted to pay my respects to poor old Gene," said Keats.

"Pay your – he's not dead yet!" cried Simon.

_"Yet?"_ Keats raised an eyebrow.

"I mean – " Simon's skin turned red as his blood boiled, "I mean at _all!"_ he cried, "just get the fuck out of here, Keats."

Keats just smiled and stared at Gene.

"You have to wonder, don't you?" he sighed.

"How they let you in the hospital?" Simon snapped, "Yes, I do."

"Where _he_ is," Keats said, an almost distant quality to his voice, "where he's gone… I have fond memories of my coma…"

"We _all_ have fond memories of your coma," Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"Those were some very happy times," Simon added, folding his arms defiantly.

"I wonder if Gene's having as nice a holiday as I did," Keats smiled. He stared at Gene as though he could see right inside his mind. "Sampling the local hospitality, perhaps. Maybe even enjoying a holiday romance." He turned to Alex with the broadest of smiles. "Ever had a holiday fling?" he asked. He watched her shake almost imperceptibly as he added, "Never mind. What happens in the future stays in the future, right, Alex?"

"Just get out," Simon gripped his arm and shoved him out into the corridor, his foot landing on the bag of grapes with a sickening squelch which was the only sound they heard until his malevolent laughter echoed down the corridor. Simon stood there, staring after him, panting for breath as his anger overcame him. His bile for Keats grew stronger all the time and this was definitely no exception. He ran one hand through his hair, pushing it back angrily before he finally felt himself calming down enough to speak coherently again. He turned around. There was a dark look on Alex's face.

"What the _hell_ was that about?" he cried.

There was a beat of hesitation.

"Keats is still losing the plot."

"No, he meant what he was saying," his eyes focused on Alex and he began to feel concerned as her head drooped and her eyes turned to the ground. "Alex?" He looked at her worriedly. "There is something, isn't there?" he asked. Her lack of protest confirmed it, "what is it?" he asked quietly, "what's he got over you?"

Alex's eyes slowly rose and reluctantly met Simon's. There was a stricken look upon her face.

"Simon," she began quietly but the shuffle of footsteps came down the corridor and as Robin arrived Alex looked away quickly. Simon froze for a moment, then looked from one to the other.

"Alex, you were –" he began but then focused on Robin and frowned. "What's that down your face? He asked.

"Is it bean juice?" asked Robin.

"No," said Simon, "It's black. It's black and it's down both ch-" he froze. "Oh Robin, _please_ tell me you weren't wearing bloody eyeliner again…"

Robin reddened and backed away.

"What does it matter?" he asked.

"It matters when you cry your eyes out over a big bowl of beans and leave great big trails of the stuff down your –" he stopped talking as his phone began to ring. "Shit, now on top of everything I'm going to get bollocked for using this in hospital again," he mumbled as he answered the call, "hello?"

Robin glanced at Alex while Simon took his call and kept a watch for any wandering staff who might be able to throw him out.

"Alex?" he said quietly, "what's happened?"

Alex shook her head slightly and didn't look up.

"Nothing," she said, "Keats trying to throw his weight around, that's all."

"Keats was _here?"_ cried Robin, his outrage barely contained.

"It's alright," Alex said quietly, "he's gone. We'll tell the hospital security not to let him in again."

"But what was he _doing_ here?"

"Just trying to cause trouble and failing," Alex said quietly as Simon ended his call and returned looking anxious.

"That was Jake," he said, "there's a…" he paused, his eyes turning to Gene, "there's a lead."

"Wha- _who?"_ Alex asked quickly.

"One of Nailer's old team," said Simon, "sounds like he was connected with the drugs that came in, trying to tap into his old networks and take advantage of his inside knowledge. He was caught on camera several times nearby. Name of Billy Hocker."

"Billy Hocker?" suddenly Robin seemed to gain about six inches of height as he clenched his jaw and angrily formed a fist.

"You know him?" Simon asked.

"Yes," Robin said lividly, "I've had run-ins with Billy Hocker."

"What kind of run-ins?" Simon frowned.

"Run-ins like getting whacked over the head and kidnapped," said Robin, "like Kim being knocked over by him in Nailer's bloody car. Like him trying to break out of the cells by taking Kelly hostage with a knife to her throat. He's a really nice piece of work."

"Shit," Simon didn't know about any of that. He drew back a little, "what's he doing clobbering Gene?"

"_If_ he did," Alex said quietly, "it's only a lead isn't it?"

"So far yes," Simon nodded, "we're waiting on some fingerprints too."

"So what now?" Robin asked.

"Jake and Marci have tracked his location through the footage," Simon explained, "they need backup though."

"Well let's get back to the station and see what's going on," Robin said quickly.

"But I can't-" Simon began, his eyes turning to Gene. Alex gave him a tiny smile.

"You go," she said.

"But –"

"Gene needs you going after the bastard who did _this_ to him," Alex told him, "don't you think he'd rather see you on the streets than blubbering by his bed?"

"I was not blubbering!" Simon protesed crossly.

"Only because Keats interrupted you."

"Excuse me? Robin's the one with a river of eyeliner down his face."

"Shit –" Robin had forgotten about that. He rubbed furiously at his face but with no mirror or water he only succeeded in making it worse

"Now you look like you're in camouflage," Simon teased.

"Can we just get going?" Robin asked, trying to hide his face.

Simon glanced at Alex one more time.

"Are you sure –"

"Go," Alex told him, "just find him."

Simon nodded then turned to Robin.

"Come on," he said quietly, grabbing his crocodile firmly under his arm and beginning to walk away.

Robin eyed them warily.

"OK," he said, "but that thing's riding in the boot."

~xXx~

Gene picked up the third flake, scooped up a large dollop of slightly melted vanilla ice cream on the end and took a bite.

"I get the feeling this is not one of their regularly commissioned desserts," Alex said a little disapprovingly, although the ice cream did look good. She started to wish she'd asked for a dessert after all. There was always room for ice cream. "Could I… maybe…?"

Gene waited for her to finish her sentence. He knew full well that she wanted some but wanted her to ask.

"I've not got me crystal ball, Bolly, spit it out," he said.

"I'd like to try some," she tried to look as innocent as possible, "could I…?"

Gene handed her one of the flakes still sat beside his bowl.

"Be my guest," he told her "but don't do that crumbly chocolate bollocks off the advert or I won't be held responsible for me actions."

Alex felt her cheeks redden a little at his words. She started to scowl a little and was going to tell him off for being cheeky but as she held the flake to her lips and took a bite enough of the chocolate crumbled into her cleavage to fully illustrate Gene's point. She cringed and dropped the rest of the chocolate, then dipped her hand into her top to fish it out as quickly as possible.

"_Sweet hellfire,"_ Gene mumbled as he looked away to give her some privacy.

"It's only a bit of chocolate" Alex hissed.

Gene knew that. He also knew that he and his _own_ Alex had been having enough fun over the years with various chocolaty products that his brain immediately made the connection between that and this _chocolate-covered Alex chest_ and his body soon followed suit. He pushed his napkin down a little to hide his embarrassment and tried to think of something to take his mind off it, anything. Anything that could kill it stone dead. _The woman in the canteen slathered with sprouts. Keats giving a lap dance. Geoff doing unmentionable things with his loofah. _Finally Gene settled down enough to look back. The rest of his ice cream seemed to have melted in the meanwhile.

"Bloody hell, is it hot in here or something?" he mumbled.

"Very."

Again, Alex spoke without thinking and wanted to slap her hand over her mouth as soon as she'd said the word. She wasn't used to behaving this way. These were not words or behaviour that came naturally to her. She wished she could stop herself but something about Gene was just taking away her filter. She picked up her coffee and tried to use her cup to hide her reddening cheeks but as she took a sip it slopped over the side in her haste, trickling down her top. "Oh _shit,"_ she cursed crossly. Her humiliation was growing stronger. So was Gene's as he watched her replace the cup, grab a napkin and start dabbing away at her chest.

"So me punishment's still going on," Gene mumbled as he looked away again, "I thought the dead bodies were bad enough. Now _I'm_ the one dying."

Alex finished drying her cleavage and squeezed out a little of the coffee from her top.

"I'm still really wet," she complained.

"Did you have to use those exact words?" Gene muttered under his breath.

"Could I have your napkin?"

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Gene glanced down into his lap where the napkin was barely masking the situation but she held her hand out and he had little choice. He leaned forward as far as he could and handed her the napkin while covering the offending appendage with the edge of the table cloth.

Alex managed to clean herself up a little more and then looked back at Gene, shaking her head slowly.

"You see?" she commented, "this is probably why I don't have a boyfriend. You can't take me anywhere."

"That's not why you don't have a boyfriend, it's because there's no one bloody good enough for you," Gene told her without thinking, then to cover up he added, "or because you're not a tornado siren."

"Do we have to keep getting back to that?" Alex sighed. She lifted her cup and this time managed to remain spillage-free. After she'd taken a sip she looked at gene seriously. "Dessert is almost over and we still haven't worked out what you're going to do," she reminded him.

"I thought I'd drink me coffee," said Gene.

"That's not what I meant."

Gene nodded.

"I know," he sighed heavily. He took a gulp from his cup and looked down at the ice cream stains in the tablecloth. "But don't worry. We'll walk out the door and I'll get hit by a snow plough, or there was poison in me meal and I'll start clutching me throat and begging for air and the whole thing will start again."

""Don't say that," Alex told him quietly. The whole thought of Gene going through it again was making her feel anxious. She still wasn't sure where she stood on the tangibility of his tale but she couldn't stand the idea of him going through more of the same.

"I don't think I'm going to break this pattern," he said with another sigh, "face it, Drakey, even _you_ don't know what to do."

"You haven't given me a chance yet."

He met her eye.

"You've not been brimming over with ideas so far," he said.

"I've been thinking it over," Alex said quietly.

Gene hesitated and hoped she would go on but her eyes seemed to be saying more than her words. They were boring into him as she fixed him in a deep stare.

"And?" he asked eventually, reaching up to loosen his tie a little. It seemed far too tight suddenly. That top button wasn't helping either. Dear god, was it getting hotter in that place? Must have been those bloody candles on the table.

"I can't tell you how real it's been," she whispered, "I wasn't there. And you know how it sounds to an outsider, Gene, I'm sure you do."

Gene nodded slowly.

"More than you know," he sighed.

"But I can see the connections between them all, and I can make a guess why it's been happening." She remembered something she had said to him during his appointment and the thoughts that had followed. Now she knew the full story she applied it to a different context but the basis was still the same. "You're carrying too much guilt, Gene," she whispered, "guilt for things you can't control. These people have come to you and your job is to help them, but the nature of their situation separates them from people and things that they love. That's not your fault – you're doing your job and your job is to help them. But as the figure of authority you're the easy target for their blame." She leaned forward, there was a new intensity in his eyes as he listened to her speak. She felt compelled to reach out and once again hold the hand he'd left lying on the table. His jokes and his brash exterior weren't at the fore now. Through his eyes he was letting her in. "And because you care, you've been letting them do it. You've listened to their blame and started to believe it. You've been taking it on and it's built up to a point where it's destroying you. In your own mid you may as well have literally been the one to pull the trigger or hold the knife, so that's what you've been experiencing."

Gene wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong. He especially wanted to argue the point about caring too much, it didn't do for anyone to think he had a heart beneath the showman that enjoyed the sound of shoulder blades hitting filing cabinets. But he felt his defences starting to fall around him. This wasn't like him. Usually there was only one person who could get past the walls he kept around himself all the time. But then again, who was he sitting opposite if not Alex? It might not have been the one he'd spent sixteen years of his life with but right there and then it didn't matter, She'd gotten past the bullshit and found the soul inside, just like the Alex he knew.

"I've," he cleared his throat, "I've been having thoughts for a while. Doubts," he breathed out and rubbed his head with his other hand, "never had before. Not until the last year. Never had many of the floaters. The ones who still had a chance. Lately we had more than we were used to. And some of them were coming back for a second go on the merry-go-round," he looked her in the eye. "First time I'd ever found out that things weren't hunky dory after the school bus leaves at home time. I knew about Sam. I knew he'd chosen to come back. But Sam was a one off. A bit of a prat, but a one off. But then…" he started to wish he'd never spoken. It was getting harder to go on.

"Take your time," Alex said quietly.

Gene knew he had no choice but to make a confession, something that had been churning him up inside. Something he couldn't even tell his Alex.

"I've been having second thoughts about what we do," he said gruffly, "all we seem to do is mess people up. Watching Simon fall apart. Hearing about Stringer's years as a robot…. Metal Mickey was the right nickname for her… then seeing Batman's life fall to pieces." He looked her in the eye. "They didn't deserve it, none of them deserved that. Me world called them and they came. Then their lives went to shit." He closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe it was the booze talking but the words wouldn't stop. "My world, my fault."

"Your guilt is misplaced, Gene," Alex whispered, holding his hand tightly, "you don't make the rules, you only follow them."

"Never followed a rule in me life, love," Gene said brashly but Alex was having none of it.

"You didn't ask them to come to you. They had accidents or were seriously injured on the job. You didn't _cause_ those things, you just gave them a place to go so that they didn't simply cease to be. You gave them life again."

"But if they were going to wake up anyway –"

"Then maybe they'd have woken up. But maybe their brains would have died. Maybe they needed that stimulation to keep going. To fight. The work, the puzzles, the cases. Maybe that's how their brains grow strong again and help their bodies to do the same."

Gene swallowed as he stared at her. Her eyes were causing a strange reaction in him; he felt hot all over and his skin was burning up.

"Then how," he began, "do I get out of this bloody cycle of murder, death, kill?

Alex looked at him sincerely. She didn't know for certain but she had a strong idea.

"You need to put the guilt to one side by focusing on the good," she whispered, "on the positives that they take from you. From your world. The ones who find strength; who find new ways to deal with things from their past. The ones who form bonds and friendships. The ones who fall in love."

Gene felt his heart thumping harder than ever.

"Happened to someone not a million miles away," his voice was surprisingly weak as he spoke.

"You have to let go of this guilt," Alex whispered.

"Don't know how," Gene confessed with frustration, "it's not in my nature."

"Then let me help you." She was drawn in by his eyes; the blue spoke to her and pulled her closer. Before she knew what she was doing her eyes had closed and she leaned forward across the table, her heat fluttering like a butterfly and every inch of skin on her body flushing as the blood raced at speed through her veins.

"I can't –" Gene began but before he could fight it her lips were right there against his own and his eyes closed forcefully. A different world, many years apart, but that was a kiss he knew so well. It was Alex. Maybe not _his_ Alex but, _fuck_, right there and then he didn't care. She'd cut through his crap and she'd spoken to his soul. This was Alex. Her voice, her mind, her lips.

As she pulled away and opened her eyes he was transfixed by the sparkle they'd picked up. Shocked by her own brazenness she tried to backtrack and pretended the kiss hadn't happened. There had been a lot of wine consumed on both sides, perhaps she could pass it off as a figment of their imaginations. But her earlier point remained.

"Let me help you to fight this," she whispered, "please."

Gene found himself swallowing nervously. Had the kiss suddenly stopped existing? Was it a thing that they weren't going to mention? He didn't know. Perhaps it had been the alcohol getting its way. He pushed it out of his mind as he looked at her expression.

"I don't know if you can," Gene told her, "even me legs have given up on me." It was true. They'd turned to state approaching jellification.

"I can," she whispered sincerely, "I _will."_

As he looked into her eyes right then he saw a deep sincerity. He saw a strength so familiar from Alex back home. And more than that, he saw faith. A faith that all would work out right. That's what helped to restore just a little of his own bwliwf.

"I'll get the bill," he said.


	30. Chapter 29: Cowboy of Oz

**Chapter 29**

Simon was strangely quiet as Robin drove them back to the station. At first Robin had thought he was sulking because he'd made him put the crocodile in the boot instead of the backseat but his expression seemed almost lost.

"Gene will be fine," he said quietly.

Simon glanced at him, not sure he'd taken in his words.

"Hmm?"

"Gene will be alright," Robin told him, "he's stronger than some twat with a clobbering fetish."

Simon looked down.

"I hope so," he said quietly."

Robin frowned a little. He wasn't sure that he'd hit upon the reason for Simon's silence.

"Is there anything else the matter?" he asked.

Simon gave a deep sigh. There _was_. In fact, there were _lots_ of things but nothing he could quite put his finger on. It was a combination of events from the last day or so, ever since he'd been dragged on the stakeout by Gene. Certainly Keats's arrival at the hospital had thrown him. It wasn't the first time that Keats had spent time in the cells but usually he would disappear for a few days to regroup and work out where to go from there. To brazenly appear just hours later at Gene's hospital room doorway with grapes in hand – this was new. It was audacious even for Keats. He didn't like this bold streak he'd developed, nor the comments he'd been throwing in the direction of Alex.

_That_ disturbed Simon even more; there was something going on that he wasn't privy to. Something that Alex clearly understood. Something that disturbed her. He'd thought she was about to confide in him about it until _Panda-Eyes_ came back.

Simon sighed as he glanced at Robin. That was _another_ thing. He felt his heart sinking as he remembered his conversation with Gene while they waited for the shipment to arrive. It had been bothering him ever since.

"_Rob…?"_

Robin gave him a sideways glance.

"No, the crocodile can_not _come out the boot," he said.

"It's not about the croc," said Simon.

"It's not?" Robin was surprised, "carry on then."

Simon hesitated.

"Do you think I'm…" he paused as he started to blush with shame for even asking the question, _"unfashionable?"_

Robin turned his head. He looked at Simon with an incredulous frown.

"Unfashionable?" he repeated.

Simon nodded.

"Yeah."

Robin struggled to keep his mind or eyes on the road ahead.

"_Unfashionable?"_

"It's only a question," Simon frowned.

"Yeah, a _weird_ one," said Robin.

"I just wanted your opinion," Simon frowned, folding his arms.

"What's brought _this_ on?" Robin demanded.

"Something Gene said," Simon mumbled.

"Because Gene's the leading authority on fashion, isn't he?" Robin rolled his eyes.

"He's got a point though," said Simon miserably.

Robin's face was a picture of confusion.

"I don't understand, you've never cared about fashion before," he said.

"Well neither have _you."_

"I still don't," Robin had no idea where this was heading as Simon snorted a laugh.

"Oh, right, no interest in fashion," he mocked.

"I _haven't!"_

"You've changed," Simon told him, "what's with all the bloody body art and the hair and the clothes that make you look like you're auditioning for the next _Boyzone?"_ he paused, "And the make-up that makes you look like you're auditioning for the Spice Girls."

Simon found himself jolted as Robin slammed on the brakes.

"Right, that's it," he said, "I'm not having this argument while I'm driving."

"We're not _having_ an argument!" Simon protested.

"We're about to," Robin told him. He looked at him crossly. "I wouldn't know what was fashionable if the most fashionable person in the world came up to me and offered to give me personal tuition. Simon, all those stupid clothes were in my wardrobe when I arrived, with a bunch of magazines and a pair of clunky boots that came from nowhere. I had no choice and I can't be bothered to go and buy a load of new ones because I've got more important things to do with my time than to march up and down the high street, looking for clothes shops and trying on stuff that I'll only hate anyway. Besides, I spend most of my time in uniform so no one even _sees_ the other stuff. Secondly, the tattoos aren't a fashion thing, It's something that you… you have to really experience it to understand." He closed his eyes and exhaled. "It's more of a strength thing for me. And the eyeliner, well that was just something I tried once and liked. Like you and that jumper."

"Don't start on the jumper," Simon warned.

"Then don't start on my _tattoos."_

"Fine."

"_Fine."_

Both men folded their arms and turned a little away from one another. Things had been going so well lately but there was still animosity between them. Simon admitted to himself that deep down he held Kim responsible for the changes in Robin. He found it difficult to relate to the stronger, more confident person Robin had become and he found himself increasingly envious of him.

"Well, what about the hair?" he pouted.

"Simon, my hair's _always_ been like this!" Robin cried, "I just put gel on it now!"

"And the…" Simon pointed with a waggling finger, "stupid… _eyebrow_… thing?"

Robin rolled his eyes and shook his head crossly, starting the car again.

"Right, that's enough," he said, "I'm not answering any more questions about my appearance." He pulled back onto the road. "You're giving me a complex."

_Fat chance_, Simon thought miserably as he stared at Robin, _I'm the one with the damn complex._

"Do you think I'm getting flabby?" he asked, his arms folded, "Gene says –"

"If you tell me _one more thing_ Gene says then I'm going to give you a makeover starting with piercing your ears with the teeth of your bloody crocodile!" cried Robin. As he tried to calm down he caught sight of Simon's expression in the mirror and began to feel a little guilty. He wasn't used to seeing him looking so insecure and wished that he hadn't been so fast to snap. "Look, Simon," he said quietly, "no one stays the same. Were both getting older. We've got different interests now. And yeah, I've got some tattoos, they came with me. It's not like I thought, _great, it's ninety seven, let's try to encapsulate everything that's trendy_." He shook his head. "if you've got it in your head that we're no longer together because you've not got tattoo]s or you like wearing some jumper or you've put on a few pounds…"

"_Hey!"_ cried Simon.

"Then you're wrong, and you know that." He felt guilt rising as he said quietly, "we're not together because we were parted by life and death. And then," he bit his lip, "then I met someone else." He swallowed. "I'm sorry, Simon."

Simon stared down at his hands as he listened to Robin. These were all things he knew already, he was just having a hard time believing that it was realty over. He kept wondering what that _one thing_ he could do was to win him back. Get a tattoo? Join the gym? Give his jumper a Viking funeral? When it came down to it there was nothing he could do. It was nothing Simon had done so there was nothing he could change. And that was the hardest lesson to learn.

~xXx~

Gene felt a strange tingling in his gut as Alex unlocked the door to her hotel room and he followed her inside. The walk from the restaurant to the hotel where she was staying had been almost entirely silent. Alex had spent the whole time dwelling on her unexpected behaviour and questioning how she had been so forward when it was so unlike her while Gene had been trying to work out exactly how severe a form of cheating it was when you've kissed your fiancé's past self from some kind of parallel universe. Again, he longed for his resident experts to advise him on that. Whoever would have thought Simon's sci-fi nerd brain would be one of the things he missed the most?

"I wasn't sure if I was going to have to stay up here overnight or not," Alex began just to break the silence more than anything, "then my car made it very clear that it needed some therapy of its own so the decision was made for me." She switched on a lamp beside the small couch and nervously took a seat.

"You got a minibar in here?" Gene asked.

"And room service," said Alex.

Gene nodded in approval.

""I hope your bloody car's paying," he said

"no, my bloody lack of a social life is paying for it," Alex sighed, "the last time I stayed in a hotel was two thousand and three and the last words I heard before bed that night were _'would you mind making a noise like this?'_" She followed that up with a sound resembling a siren that Gene already had the misfortune of hearing in a certain video. She looked to the phone. "should I call for something?"

Gene would have liked nothing better than to put away another bottle of red or a couple of measures of scotch but he had already had enough to make the bedposts look like belisha beacons so he thought he'd better refuse this time, especially with the topic of conversation ahead, and especially with the unexpected incident in the restaurant. He could already feel lines becoming blurred and wasn't entirely sure where to stop.

"Leave it for now." He said.

They found themselves side by side on the couch and turned to face one another. Was it a good idea to sit so close? Gene wasn't sure. But trying to keep a distance from Alex – _any_ Alex – seemed wrong.

"Your guilt," she said.

Her words broke through any thoughts Gene might have been having. He exhaled loudly and looked away from her, starting to change his mind about ordering alcohol. He always found it useful to have a glass to stare at when he couldn't quite bring himself to look someone in the eye.

"Do you have to make me sound like Lady Macbeth?" he asked.

"You need to find a way past it," Alex told him seriously. Her voice was soft and soothing. She'd always had that quality about her. It was one of the reasons that they worked so well as a pair, both on a personal and a professional level they balanced each other out. Over the years she had helped to calm down his temper somewhat while he had given her a more forceful bark and bite.

"It's that easy, is it?" he sighed.

"I didn't say it was easy," she told him, "but it's necessary. Otherwise you'll just keep going round in the same vicious cycle."

"I used to believe in the place," Gene told her, "I used to believe we were doing the right thing. Was a time I used to forget what me work was about. Much easier then."

"You've told me all the negatives," Alex said, "tell me the positives."

"You mean the fact the plumbing works and the canteen only serves sprouts for one month a year?" Gene asked with a sarcastic, false smile.

"_Gene_," Alex said sternly. She fixed him in a stare so serious that it completely withheld his ability to joke or mess around, he found himself unable to stall. Something in her eyes forced him to speak and he had no option but to tell her the truth.

"I've got a good team," he said. He paused. "No, the _best_ team. Always have. You get the occasional floater bursting in and threatening to rearrange me face if I don't apologise for rearranging his _office_, and you might get the occasional Jarvis Cocker look-alike too, but…" he cleared his throat. "Me world is as real as it gets, Drake. You have to see it to understand. It's not like some wet dream where half yer room's in black and white and everyone turns into giraffes halfway through. It's as real as whatever you've got out here." He sighed. "But that means the crap that happens on the streets is real an' all. It's our job to protect them. So that's what we do. And we do it well. Watched my officers grow. Seen them start thinking with their heads instead of the latest edition of _Trendy Policing Two Thousand and Bollocks._ Teach them a bit of common sense." He paused. "Suppose that's what I do."

"It sounds like you do more than that," Alex told him.

"Yeah, I drink me own body weight in lattes an' all."

"You're running a busy and pressured division," Alex began seriously, "on your own. And you're trying to help these lost souls reach their potential at the same time." She paused. "That's a big ask."

"Nature of the job," Gene said dismissively.

"A job you do by yourself."

"I'm not by myself any more," said Gene, "there's –" he stopped talking as he realised he couldn't tell her the one thing he really wanted to; that she would soon be standing by his side. He wished he could tell her what a difference she was going to make, to his world, his station and his life but he couldn't. She was better off not knowing for now. "I have help now. Still me in the hot seat but I'm not doing it on me own. Someone's been helping me for a long time. She's," he flinched a little, "been a bloody miracle worker." He wanted to get away from that subject. He was terrified of saying too much and having the paradox police round to arrest him, "and then there's Simon, I _suppose_," he said, rolling his eyes, "not exactly taken to the role like a duck to water. More like a duck to lager… didn't take it well, his new job… new responsibility… but he settled down eventually. Just took time." He shook his head. "had to get over yer twenty first century red tape and rulebooks. Wasn't used to thinking for himself. I had a –" _shit, what was he doing?_ He was really letting the wine and the scotch get to him, "- a bit of a time last year. Crumbled like a bloody Oxo cube. Never thought the one who'd pull things together would be Shoebury, but he did. Got me sorted out, back on the straight and narrow, pulled me away from making the biggest mistake of me life." He finally looked Alex in the eye again.; "You see, he finally started to indulge in what we humans call '_common sense'_. Off on Shoebury's planet of geek it didn't really exist until a few months ago. And once he got the hang of it he started putting that brain to use in his work. His department's doing better than ever."

"Perhaps that's why you're here." Said Alex, "to see how he'll cope without you. Maybe you're worried, somehow, about what will happen when it's time for you to move on. Maybe you're looking for someone to take over."

Gene gave a mocking laugh.

"Not going to be Shoebury," he said, "he might have a more level head on his shoulders now…" he paused, "and that's no reflection of what the server did to his sodding skull.. but he's not exactly Gene Genie material. I don't care what his DNA says." he paused. "He wouldn't want to anyway. Told me that enough times. He hates being left in charge of CID. He'll be bloody bricking it out there, thinking he's going to get lumbered with it."

"Then who would _you_ say," Alex began, "who would you choose to take your place?"

"Do you mind? I'm not cashing in me pension for a long time yet," Gene told her. He shook his head. "Don't know," he said eventually, "I don't think there is anyone that can fill these boots." He tapped the heels of his boots together; once, twice, three times. It felt good to have his own footwear back. "It's taken them long enough to find someone to cover uniform."

"What do you mean?" asked Alex.

"Never had anyone down there," said Gene, "any plod who needed a helping hand had to come and work with me. Don't know why it took them such a bloody long time." he sighed, "maybe that's why that world of mine was so hell-bent on snatching bloody Batman from the jaws of 'is new life."

"Oh, I see," Alex nodded, remembering Gene's earlier talk of the canine division.

"And never would have thought that," Gene told her, "first time he showed up in me world he could only have been wetter if he'd brought the Niagara falls into me office with him. Weedy wotsit, he was. The world knew it too. Demoted him right back to PC first go around, he was bloody livid. But," he took a deep breath, visions of Robin carrying his younger self from his house still as clear in his mind as the day it happened, "he was there for a reason. He faced his fears, Went back to the worst day of his life and became his own hero." He looked her in the eye again. "Changed him, Bols. When he came back he'd turned into some kind of muscle-bound dog trainer of doom. Suddenly no shit was to be taken. What happened to him… facing up to it… he went back stronger and turned his life around." He shook his head. "Somehow he was the only one the world didn't screw up after he went back." He felt his heart sinking, "but it did the job well enough a year on when it ripped him away from the life he'd built. Finding out he had Stringer helping him bust his bed springs was the biggest shock I had since Shoebury left one of his _Toastercide_ suspects too close to me bath. And not just because of their incompatible _attachments_. Stringer wasn't exactly the warmest fish in the pond. Bloody hardnosed cow, she could be. _And_ the only person I've ever met who could probably drink me under the table."

"From what I saw earlier I find that hard to believe," Alex gave a tiny smile.

"She was a wildcard and no mistake," Gene sighed, "there was no taming her for months. Had to wake up and realise how real the world was. Never really looked like she had a heart. Half of her was made of metal as it was. Probably no room for one with all those… rings and studs and bloody lumps of steel or whatever she had in her unmentionables." He gave a snort, "one day she did the unthinkable and took the unexpected step of falling in love." He wasn't even comfortable saying the L word unironically when it applied to someone else, "Changed her completely. Then she went home and couldn't feel any more. That was the last time she'd set the less metal bits of her innards fluttering for seven years. Until she shacked up with Batman."

"Would they have met without you?"

Gene looked at her with a frown.

"What?"

"This, Kim, and Robin," Alex continued, "did they meet through you? Your world?"

Gene hung his head as he thought about Alex's soul splitting in two and everything that Robin and Kim had done to help her back, the first time.

"Yes," he said quietly, "that one can be notched up to the Fenchurch East half-dead dating service."

"Are you sure you're not the Wizard of Oz?" Alex's voice grew breathy and he looked at her in confusion.

"What are you trying to say to me?" Gene demanded, "I need to paint a yellow brick road in me car park?"

"You gave the scarecrow his brain," Alex whispered, "you helped the cowardly lion to build his courage and find his roar. And you gave the tin man – _girl_ – her heart." She stared into his eyes and felt a quickening in her pulse. All the tales he'd spun of the negatives, all of the times that his world had brought somebody pain, this was a very different side of the story and one that left her feeling quite breathless and uplifted to hear. "All you seem to need now," she whispered, "is a Dorothy."

"That was Sam bloody Tyler," Gene tried to joke but Alex wasn't laughing.

"You thought you'd ruined their lives," she whispered, "but look what you gave them."

"Giving with one hand and taking with the other," Gene mumbled.

Alex wasn't having a bit of it.

"Your world," she whispered, "is amazing."

Gene looked away.

"There was a time I thought that too," he mumbled.

Alex turned his head to make him face her again.

"Then think it again," she breathed.

This time when she caught his stare neither could break it. It was impossible to look away. Her gaze locked firmly onto his and he felt his mouth going very dry, very quickly. As he involuntarily licked his lips he noticed Alex's stare flicking down to them for a moment. In the dim light from the lamp beside them the expression on her face seemed richer and more intense than ever. There was a lump rising to his throat with words that he knew he was supposed to say; that he couldn't do this, that he was spoken for, that he had someone waiting back home - but he was staring into the very same eyes that were waiting for him, or at least they would be some years down the line.

There was no resisting it. No way to resist the urge to lean towards her and to feel the gentle sensation of her lips against his once more, This time the kiss lasted for longer than their brief moment in the restaurant. With no one around and defences weakened from the intensity of their conversation they both caved in to an intense pull between them that neither could fight any more. It didn't matter where or when; they were still Gene and Alex they still had the same chemistry that would be waiting there when the woman that his arms began to reach around awoke in 1981 with a headful of curls and a dress as short as Keats's list of willing conquests.

"_Bolly,"_ he breathed as her lips moved away from his and began to trail a line of hot kisses from his face to his neck.

She didn't know why he kept calling her that and right then she didn't much care. As she felt her underwear dampening and her skin flushing with heat there was only one thing she cared about

Peeling her lips from his skin, she looked him in the eye. He seemed shocked but longing as her kisses had awoken in him all the feelings that he'd ever had for Alex. He missed his Bolly so much, he wasn't complete without her. He missed the warmth, the love, the friendship and the banter, but it was the passion that he missed most of all right then.

He swallowed as he watched her get to her feet and pull the band from her hair, letting her brunette locks fall elegantly around her shoulders. Her lipstick was smudged around her lips and her cheeks were burning from the heat that surged through her veins. Her fingers played around the top of her coffee-stained blouse, unfastening the top button before she hesitated and looked at him for reassurance. He stared back, more nervous than he had been since his first quick fumble as an awkward teen.

"You sure want this?" he asked, shocked and horrified to hear his own voice quiver.

She nodded determinedly as she stared at him. She couldn't remember ever wanting anything - _anyone_ – more.

Stretching out her hand, she awaited his reaction. Would he reject her? Was he going to make his excuses and leave? She remembered him saying that he had someone back home but for some reason it felt as though that didn't matter. She couldn't understand why. It felt as though it wasn't that simple, that there was something complicating the matter, but never in a million years would she have guessed it was because _she_ was that 'someone back home'.

The more time passed, the more she felt certain he would reject her. And why wouldn't he? Everyone else did. All she was was a walking career; a brain on legs. She had no love interest. She had no social life to even stand a chance of meeting one. She wasn't even a tornado siren. She lacked love and warmth and intimacy, and all she wanted was this one night; one special, perfect night with someone with whom she'd felt an immediate and immense bond.

He didn't respond. He didn't move. Her face began to fall as she started to lower her hand. So that was it, she thought to herself. _Over before it had started._ She began to nod sadly; to say she understood as she turned around, when she heard the sound of him getting to his feet behind her. She didn't turn back. She didn't want to see him leave. So she stood facing the bed, her head bowed slightly, when a hand on her shoulder took her by surprise and she glanced around. There he stood with fire in his eyes. Watching her turn her back to him had done it; he couldn't stand to see her walk away. Never had been able to.

"Listen," He felt himself becoming hot and flustered, "have you… _got_ something?"

Alex stared at him, unsure what he meant at first. She almost said; '_Viagra?'_ before she realised what he was trying to say and felt infinitely relieved that she hadn't spoken. She shook her head, feeling mortified at her admission. No, she didn't. She hadn't had sex in three years, she never met anyone who would _want_ to take her to bed, she didn't carry anything. So much for being the modern woman.

Gene felt his heart thumping. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He hadn't used protection back home for a long, long time but he was fairly sure there was _something_ in his wallet, left there for posterity. _This_, he thought, would be the decision maker. If it was there, in this strange world, then it was meant to be. If there was nothing then he would have to walk away, however much it hurt, however close he felt to the woman whose face was the most familiar thing in his life.

With a deep breath he opened up his wallet.

_Decision made._

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: I'm not sure if or when I'm going to post again. I might be back in a couple of days.**_


	31. Chapter 30: Desperate Delights

**A/N: Please note 3 things: 1) inexplicably the rating has risen to M from this chapter. Who knew? 2) I am uploading two chapters right now, second one along in a moment. And 3) Tomorrow (Monday) is my birthday so I am expecting a gift-wrapped Alex on my doorstep. Or failing that, a red wooden crocodile. Preferably one that is not going to eat me. Also, if I owe you an email or PM please be patient, I'm about to do that now, I've mostly been offline this weekend x**

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 30**

"I should have told you sooner," Alex found it hard talking to Gene as he lay there, unresponsive. She was so used to Gene being full of life, full of fight, always on the go. He rarely stopped to catch breath on a normal day – he'd be off to work, out tracking suspects, away gathering evidence, back for lattes and then home. He only usually sat down to enjoy an odd scotch or two. Seeing him lying in the bed, motionless, devoid of comprehension was killing her every bit as much as the wound on his head had threatened to do to him.

She took a deep breath as a feeling of anxiety filled her chest and made it difficult to breathe. If he would just open his eyes she could talk to him properly. She didn't want to talk to him while he couldn't respond. She didn't even know if he could hear her or not.

"I should have told you when I first came back," she whispered, "but it was all so confusing and our baby had gone and I just couldn't get to grips with what was going on at first. There were more important things. And after the _way_ I got back, I…" she swallowed and flinched as she thought about it. She usually worked very hard at blocking that out. Sometimes it was the only way to function. She bit anxiously on her lip and focused on his pale face. "I'm so sorry. I'd never meant to keep it from you. With everything else we were going through it didn't seem like the right time and then the more time that passed, the easier it became _not_ to say anything. But I never, ever meant to keep it from you, I would always have told you when the time was right," she paused as she took his hand. "but now I'm so scared that I'll never have a chance."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, the whir and bleep of the machines the only background noise. She couldn't even comprehend the thought that Gene might not make it. She wasn't going to live without him. He had to make it home. In her mind she wasn't giving him any other option.

~xXx~

It was surreal. That was the only way to describe it. It wasn't exactly a normal situation, but what about the last few days _had_ been? In fact, had there ever been anything normal in Gene's life? He didn't think so. Never really had been.

But of all things, this was the most surreal moment of his life; walking towards a stranger that he knew so well, resting his hands against her arms and moving forward with his lips ready to press against hers once again. He heard her breathe in sharply as he closed his eyes. Was this cheating? Was it _really_ cheating? How could it be cheating when he was going to be putting a ring on her finger some years down the line? This was just a preview; one night with an Alex that hadn't met him yet. Not properly. Not on _his_ terms, not on his _territory_.

He muttered her name beside her ear as they moved up against the wall; his hot breath burning the skin of her neck. He barely had to do a thing and she was already trembling. It had been a very long time for Alex without passion or human companionship. Three long years, with very little intimacy before _that_. She needed that as much as the next person. She was human after all. Nothing but flesh, bone and blood.

She grasped his face and pulled it back to her's, pressed her lips firmly against his and began to explore his mouth with her tongue. He groaned as he quickly stiffened and pressed himself up against her hip so that she could feel him. Now she knew she wasn't the only one in desperate need of one wild night. Already there were sensations building between her legs and her underwear was growing damper with each moment that went by. She pressed her body up against his and he gave a needful groan that had a powerful effect on her, sending a shudder through every limb.

With reluctance she pushed him back a little way so that she could finish what she'd barely started, quickly unfastening her buttons and letting her soiled blouse drop to the ground. The red bra beneath called Gene's mind back to one night in a vault, _such_ a long time ago, and he gave a strangled moan as he tried to contain his excitement. This was like having the best of both worlds, the familiarity of being with someone you've known and loved for years whilst experiencing the excitement of the first time all over again. Could anyone else have experienced such a thing? He didn't think so.

No sooner had she shed her top than her hands were down at his belt and swiftly unfastening it.

"Love of Christ, you don't waste any time," he murmured as his arms dived around her back and forced open the clasp of her bra. She shrugged it to the floor as he did the same to his trousers and they swapped; her working on the buttons of his shirt while he relieved her of her trousers. With the rough removal of his tie right over his head, almost pulling half his hair and his nose off in the process, only underwear remained between them. In a way Gene wished that they'd taken things more slowly, savoured every second of the experience, but they were both in desperate need for this in different ways and neither wanted to waste a moment.

His eyes scanned her up and down, so akin to the Alex waiting for him back in 1997, but as his eyes reached her stomach he froze just momentarily. No scar, and no tattoo either. He swallowed and felt a little shaken as he was reminded that this was not the Alex that he knew and loved. Although she would become her one day there would be a year at least before she'd even make her own journey through time and cross the line between life and death. Without thinking he reached out and ran his fingers gently down her skin. There was no difference in skin tone; no bullet wound, no ink.

"Gene?"

Gene looked back at up to her face. She looked a little anxious as she stared at him and he realised how very strange his expression must have been.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"What's wrong?" she asked. He caught her gaze and wished so much that he could just tell her but he couldn't. "Have you changed your mind?" she whispered.

In reply he reached up and pressed his hand against the eternally soft skin of her cheek, pulled her closer and kissed her forcefully drawing a gasp from deep down within her when suddenly he felt her hands around his boxers as she pushed them right down with incredible ease. The next thing he knew her fingers curled around his shaft and began to work it with long, languid strokes that forced a grunt of surprise and pleasure from him.

"Ohhh, what are you trying to do to me, Bolly?" he growled, her actions starting to speed up as the sound of his breath quickening spurred her on.

He grasped her breasts, squeezing and kneading them softly before he ran his hand around their tantalizing curve and murmured a statement of approval. The sensations that her hand brought him started to build to a crescendo and he knew he'd have to tell her to stop before she pushed him past the point of no return and it was too late. Reluctantly he removed her fingers from his cock and heard her begin to protest but she stopped as soon as she felt his hands ripping her knickers down until they dropped past her knees and pooled around her ankles. She swiftly kicked them away from her feet, grasped Gene's hand and pulled him across to the bed but as she lay back and stared at him she was gripped by a moment of panic.

_"Wait,"_ she whispered.

"What?" Gene was halfway onto the bed and almost toppled over.

"You haven't got any strange…" she looked anxious, "I mean, you don't want me to…"

Gene frowned, as confused as he'd ever been.

"Spit it out, Drakey, _what?"_

"I don't have to make a siren noise do I?" Alex's eyes were wide and there was a note of genuine concern in her voice.

"Believe me, the noise I'm hoping for will be nothing like a siren," Gene told her as he pressed his mouth against hers for another hard, forceful kiss while his hand moved between her legs and swept between them, causing her hips to jolt upwards and a string of language he hadn't expected to tumble from her lips. He wasn't anticipating the abundance of wetness he found, and the slightest touch from his fingers simply managed to turn it up a gear.

"_Gene, please,"_ she whispered. She didn't want to waste time with foreplay. She just wanted wild passion and reckless gratification. She'd been alone for far too long. This wasn't a night for gentle loving and sweet affection, this was one night of wild, forceful, torrid passion. With one hand she reached out and felt around for the condom Gene had left beside the bed then gave a slightly triumphant laugh as she found it, pulled it towards her and forced the packet open.

"Careful, woman, don't tear the bloody thing," Gene mumbled as he pressed his lips against her neck and caused her whole body to quiver and shudder as he kissed her, again and again. She gasped and she writhed until finally she had to gasp,

"Jesus, Gene, do you want me to do this or not?" The condom was waiting there between her fingers but her actions were at the mercy of his mouth. He finally stopped rendering her senseless for long enough that she could roll it over his length and pull him in towards her for one more deep and desperate kiss before she opened her legs wider and bent her knees to allow him full access.

He tried to be gentle but the heat of the night took control and as soon as he positioned himself he couldn't hold back. He entered her hard and fast, knocking the breath from her body and causing her to gasp and cry out at a surprising volume. For a moment he worried that he'd hurt her. If he had, it certainly wasn't stopping her as she grasped his buttocks and pulled him in again for a second forceful thrust. Her nails began to dig into his skin as her fingers curled from the sensations that were quickly starting to build, between her legs and throughout the rest of her body. From her racing heart to her chest damp with perspiration, the motions that he made caused every inch of her body to respond to his touch. Her hips began to move in time with his, meeting him halfway every time he pushed deeper inside of her. How could they have found their rhythm straight away? Perfect. It had _always_ been perfect and it always would be.

He gripped her body as he moved deep inside her again and again, every thrust turning up the heat. He heard her give a low groan as her pleasure began to build but his orgasm was fast approaching and he didn't want to tip over the edge before she had the chance to climax. He realised he was at an advantage there; he already knew what she liked, what drove her crazy and would give her the pleasure that he desperately desired to show her.

He adjusted his position slightly to gain better balance and moved his hand to her clit where he pressed his thumb against it and rubbed in short, firm motions; back and forth then round in tiny circles. The wetness triggered by her excitement gave him enough natural lubrication for his thumb to move smoothly against her. He watched enthralled as her responses become wilder and more exaggerated and her pleasure heighted. He couldn't hold back a smug smirk as he watched her body writhing with a pleasure so intense that she almost couldn't take it.

"Oh god, _Gene_, oh _god –"_ her head crashed right back against the pillow as she lost control and could no longer keep her movements in time with his so he grasped her by the hips and took control.

"_Oh, here it comes –" _Gene was vaguely aware that he sounded like a bit of a prat but it was too late to do anything about that now. His mouth had run away with him but luckily she seemed too far gone in her own pleasure to notice so he pushed it out of his mind and concentrated on the heat rushing to his face and the blood rushing to his groin as he struck his peak with colossal intensity and overflowed with one last, firm thrust and a throaty growl.

It seemed to take forever before Alex stopped trembling from the power of her climax. Three years with nothing but her fingers and a small 'personal massager' didn't really compete to a night with a stranger she'd found the deepest, instant connection with.

"_Shit,"_ she whispered as Gene landed rather heavily on top of her, breathing deeply, almost panting as he tried to get some oxygen back into his body.

"That's one for the record books," he mumbled between breaths, but even as he spoke he felt the guilt beginning to creep in. How guilty was he supposed to feel? He wasn't altogether certain. The woman in his arms wasn't Alex. Not _his_ Alex. But she was as close as damnit. He was right, no one else had ever experienced such a strange situation.

He didn't want to face the guilt just yet and she didn't want to face the reality of what she'd done; having sex with a stranger was so unlike her. So for as long as they dared they simply lay where they were, absorbing the warmth and safety of each other's bodies. Both needed it that night. They were both far away from home but in very different ways. For one, it brought a touch of familiarity. For the other, a glimpse of the future. For one night they found each other when they needed it most. Tomorrow would be a different story.

~xXx~

Collectively they'd had no more than around 10 hours of sleep between them. Robin had managed to sneak an hour, Simon had none and Jake and Marci managed about four and a half hours apiece. None of them were exactly refreshed and raring to go but all had their reasons for wanting to catch Billy Hocker. Robin had scores to settle that hadn't happened yet while this was Jake and Marci's first big case and they needed to get a result to prove their worth. As for Simon? He simply wanted to get the bastard who'd battered Gene.

"Footage pinned him around the dock in the hour before the shipment arrived," Jake explained, "he suddenly moved to a far out point, he must have seen us in the area and fled to a safe distance."

"The drugs were a secondary line of business," Marci added, "the truck driver knew nothing, the drugs were going to go to Billy before he drove the container away. One of the boat crew gave us some juicy details of the deal."

Someone from uniform thought he'd seen a body," Jake told them, "he asked Gene to follow down to the dock. We're presuming Billy saw him, freaked and –" he gave a visual demonstration of the act of clobbering Gene.

"He's been sighted around the Walker estate," said Marci.

Simon glanced at Robin.

"That's dangerously close to Montana Yard," he said.

"Shit, you're right," Robin sat up a little straighter.

"Montana Yard?" Marci repeated.

"Nailer's territory," said Simon, "After he was arrested his cronies fought it out more or less for who got what.

"Maybe that's what Billy took," said Robin.

"I can't believe we've got to go back to Montana Yard," Simon groaned.

"It wasn't your crowning moment of glory, was it?" Robin teased.

Simon put his head in his hands.

"We _caught_ the guy, didn't we?"

"Yeah, and humiliated him to boot," Robin smirked.

Jake and Marci exchanged a glance.

"What… _exactly_ do you mean, sir?" Marci asked.

"Nothing," Simon said trough gritted teeth.

"Except that he pulled Nick Nailer's trousers down," Robin informed them politely.

Simon's horrified glance moved from a giggling Jake and Marci to an innocent Robin.

"That is not relevant to the case at hand," he said through gritted teeth.

"And then you sat on him," Robin added.

"It did the job, didn't it?" Simon protested.

"I don't know which one of you looked redder," Robin teased fondly, remembering his first time in Gene's world. Despite their fight in the car he and Simon were certainly on a more even keel than they'd been since Robin had returned. Little moments, remembering shared memories, that fond familiarity were there just bubbling under and trying to burst through. This was one of the times it had succeeded. "I have this awful feeling Nailer had on a pair of novelty boxers but I can't quite remember what."

"_Fireman Sam!"_ Simon recalled, a broad smile across his face at the memory as he watched Robin's eyes light up.

"Oh yeah, _that_ was it," he laughed. Their heads moved close together like two people so familiar with one another that there was no such thing as personal space.

"I thought Terry was going to piss himself," Simon closed his eyes to savour the memory.

Jake glanced at Marci and pulled a face as the two men continued to reminisce. Marci shrugged back and they patiently waited to be involved in the conversation again. As they finally stopped talking about Nailer's underpants Simon's face became serious once again. He pulled out a map that Marci had brought and drew two dots.

"If he is at this property then there are two main exits. Jake, Marci, you take the south-easterly exit and we'll take the other one. As soon as we receive positive confirmation that he's on the premise we'll make our move."

"Is this man dangerous?" Jake asked, "his record didn't bring much up."

"I've had encounters with him," Robin said crossly, "he's not someone you want to invite round for a sleepover, put it that way."

"Marci, come with me and pull the plans of the building, just in case we need them," said Simon, "It was mapped out after Nailer's arrest. Jake, help Rob-" he paused, "Chief Inspector Thomas to issue Billy's description through the station."

As Simon and Marci left, Robin got to his feet and glanced from side to side.

"Where's the map…?" he began but quickly found his answer as he noticed a pile of shredded paper with Simon's crocodile sat in the middle of it.

"_Snap snap snap snap snap,"_ it said, viciously turning its head from side to side.

"Can… we… turn that thing off before it destroys all our evidence?" Jake asked nervously, "and our limbs?"

"Unfortunately it's just made of wood and doesn't have an off-switch," Robin swallowed, "Uh… maybe we should move this into DCI Hunt's office?"

Jake looked at the snapping creature on the table.

"A very wise suggestion, sir," he said nervously.

They gathered up their papers with speed and hurried into Gene's office before peering out anxiously where the crocodile seemed to have spontaneously developed a walking mechanism and trundled up and down along the desk in CID.

"That thing gives me the creeps," Jake confided.

"It gives me more than the creeps, it gives me a full fucking phobia of crocodiles," Robin shuddered. He flicked his hair away from his eyes and started to spread out some of the papers to find the relevant details ready to pass around the station. He was oblivious to the look on Jake's face and the the curiosity in his expression as he asked,

"Sir?"

"Hmm…?"

"You…" he paused, "I don't man to be nosey," Jake began, "but… DCI Shoebury…"

"No, he doesn't usually keep wooden crocodiles about the place," said Robin.

"No, that wasn't actually the question," said Jake, "although I did wonder." He paused a little awkwardly. "Are you and DCI Shoebury…?" he trailed off awkwardly.

Robin glanced at him.

"What?" he asked distractedly.

"Are you…" Jake paused, "it's just, you seem really close…"

Robin finally caught on.

"Oh, _no,"_ he said, fully aware that he was going slightly red at the question, "no, we're not. I mean, we were. A long time ago," It wasn't actually all that long ago but it felt like forever. He glanced down for a moment. It was the first time anyone had asked that question. "W-why," he asked, a little nervously, "Why d'you ask?"

"Just…" Jake shrugged, "just wondered. Me and Marci, we just thought you had," he shrugged, "_Chemistry_. I'll shut up now."

Robin wasn't sure how he felt about that. He supposed that with the history they had it was inevitable some chemistry would remain. He hoped for a minute that Jake was asking because of an interest in Simon. He genuinely wanted to see Simon happy and if he met someone who cared for him then perhaps some of Robin's guilt would ease. He knew very little about Jake and Marci, only that they often went clubbing with Shaz. He'd also been hoping that perhaps one of them might sweep _Shaz_ off her feet and then maybe he wouldn't feel so jealous about her being Kim's one past love. He had no idea whether Marci and Jake were straight, gay, bisexual or any shade in between. His gaydar didn't seem to be working in Gene's world either. Maybe it broke the same time as his watch. Maybe his watch contained the gaydar. Maybe –

"Sir?"

Robin froze for a moment, He glanced at Jake.

"Sorry?"

"I asked you if you wanted me to get some copies of this," he held up a mugshot of Billy, "this is the one we're sending round, right?"

Robin closed his eyes for a second. He hated zoning out

"Sorry, yeah," he sighed, "Run off thirty. We'll take them round before we leave."

Robin waited until Jake left, then he slammed his head against the wall as hard as he'd dared.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" he asked himself crossly. "stop shipping your bloody colleagues, this isn't some stupid TV show."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shipping would wait. Billy Hocker was a man Robin wanted to see off the streets long before the trouble he'd caused from his own tie. Just maybe his chance was finally there.

~xXx~

He stared at the darkness through the open curtains as he lay beside her. What time was it now? Two? Three in the morning? He wasn't sure. He felt a strange gnawing inside of him where he guilt wasn't sure whether to spark up or not. This was one of the most complicated situations that had ever arisen, for anyone, in the entire world - and that included the situation of whether or not to hire Evan as a beard model.

He turned around and stared at her as she slept soundly. With her hair cascading across the pillow there was little to tell between her and his Alex back home. He might as well have been lying there beside her. His fingers gently played with the ends of her locks, careful not to wake her. She'd fallen asleep so quickly after they'd finished; a combination of the shock, travel, alcohol and heady orgasm wiping out her energy completely. It didn't look like she was going to be waking for a little while.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he whispered. He wasn't even sure what he was apologising for at first, but it slowly dawned on him.

_I'm sorry my world takes you too._

_I'm sorry you lose your daughter._

_I'm sorry we lose our baby._

_I'm sorry for the long road you've got when you wake up in eighty one._

He slowly peeled back the covers, careful not to awaken her, and slipped his legs out of the bed where he sat on the edge for some time with not a stitch of clothing on, feeling the cold spring morning atmosphere starting to bite. Little things like that – they clouded his imaginings of what was real and what wasn't.

Eventually he bent over and picked up the clothes that were in a pile on the floor then scooted across to the couch and quickly pulled on his pants and trousers . He sat down and stared out into the darkness again. What had he done? What had he _actually_ done? Aside from possibly broken a couple of bedsprings. He closed his eyes and laid back along the couch. Had he screwed up something by meeting this Alex? Had he messed up something by letting himself become sucked into an urge to be intimate with her? What would happen to this Alex when Layton fired a bullet into her skull? Would she go back to some equivalent of his world and greet 'him' with open arms? Oh _god_, he had no idea. How real was this? how real was _any_ of it?

Real enough that he was still trapped. Real enough that he still had to get home.

And real enough that he still felt a pang of guilt as he stared at the woman in bed across the room.

Alex.

Alex, but not Bolly.

He sank is head into his hands and breathed out. He still couldn't wrap his head around whether this was actually cheating or not, but it felt like it in his gut. Now he needed to get home to clear his conscience too.

And he would. He wasn't going to let this world suck him in. he'd seen people head back home from his own world. Different world, different situation but he would do the same. And he was on the edge of it now. He _had_ to be.

~xXx~

As much as she tried to fight the sleep, Alex was exhausted. She'd been by Gene's side for hours, pacing the corridors all night, and now that she was alone with him in a room where the only sounds were the machines hat insisted on beeping and whirring then there was nothing to distract her from sleeping.

Her eyes closed involuntarily and her head lolled several times before she forced herself to open them and sit up straight again but naturally the last time her exhaustion won through and her head dropped to her folded arms across the bed.

Again she dreamed; the same dream that had been floating through each snatch of sleep that night. _Dreams of a memory; one single event, one single night, one very lonely, sad and tearful night, for both of them_.

So lonely; the ones they wanted, both far away, neither knowing if things were going to work out alright, turning to each other for friendship, for comfort and support.

But sometimes lines become blurred, and sometimes you just need someone to wake up beside in the morning.

…"_I don't regret it."_

"_Neither do I…"_

But she still felt the guilt. And she should have told him. She _would_ have told him when the right moment arrived. But now she feared she would never have a chance.

Alone again, all she had to keep her warm this time were memories and the hope she had left that Gene's eyes would open and he would awaken.

She wasn't giving him any other choice. She needed him too much.


	32. Chapter 31: Events Conspire

**A/N: Second chapter I'm uploading tonight.**

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 31**

The sound of ceramics meeting wood prompted the opening of Gene's eyes. There was an ache in his head and hid tongue felt as dry and arid as Keats's love life following a gas and air shortage. He saw a steaming mug of something on the table beside him and followed the hand which had placed it there. It belonged to Alex, slightly sheepish, somewhat nervous and looking slightly the worse for wear. Her eyes weren't both fully open and her hair slightly resembled the matted branches of the fallen tree that had sent Simon to the other side.

"Good morning," she said nervously, holding her blouse coyly around her top as though to block any potential view of her cleavage. Gene roughly rubbed his face and sat up, trying to get his bearings.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"Got you a coffee," Alex told him, "room service. I wasn't sure how you took it, There's milk and sugar on the tray."

Gene glanced at the room service tray nearby and the meagre amount of sugar they'd been sent.

"Doubt there's enough of the sweet stuff on there for me,", he mumbled. And besides, he could probably do with some sweetening, after what he'd done last night.

"I called the garage," Alex said quietly as she sat down beside him, a mug of her own in her hands, "my car will be ready by eleven. Then I can go home."

Gene hung his had.

"Wish getting home was always that simple," he said.

Alex bit her lip somewhat guiltily. They were supposed to have been working that out. Instead they'd ended up in bed

"How… do people get home from _your_ world?" she asked.

Gene lifted his mug and decided to have the coffee as it was. He'd just have to have 12 sugars next time to even up the score.

"Depends," he said, his mind struggling to get onto that topic, "Sometimes when they're dying. Gunshot. Knife wound. And sometimes it just _happens_." He paused. "One of them was having a shag at the time."

"Well _that_ didn't work for _you_," Alex tried to joke but neither found it very funny.

"Yer not trying the others either," said Gene, "don't feel like getting a hole in me head."

Alex sipped her coffee and looked at him anxiously.

"So what are you going to do, Gene?" she asked quietly.

Gene shook his head,

"No bloody idea," he said.

Alex hung her head.

"Gene, I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I promised I would help you. I promised I'd help you get home. But I didn't."

Gene turned and finally looked her in the eye.

"But you have helped," he told her sincerely, "for months me vision's been cloudy. Needed someone to remind me of the other side. What we're there for. How we help. First time I can see that clearly again." He paused, "you should pack in the psychology and become a bloody optician."

"Believe me, it couldn't be any worse than what I'm doing now.

Her words surprised him. He knew she'd had a couple of complaints the night before about her career but now she seemed completely downhearted.

"You thinking of getting down the dole queue?" he asked.

Alex stared into her coffee, watching thee light dance across the hot liquid. She gave a deep sigh and said quietly.

"Sometimes when work's the only thing you've got you overdose on it. Then you get sick and tired of the taste." She seemed to freeze and backtrack. "I mean, it's not like I have nothing in my life," she gabbled, "I've got my daughter and it's good that I spend time with her. I mean, she's growing up fast… always wants to spend time with her friends instead of silly old mum… but when I _do_ see her it's… it's lovely…"

Gene felt his heart starting to sink.

"You never miss adult company?" he asked, "ones that you don't define as fruitcases."

"I'm very close to my godfather, Evan."

"I said ones you don't define as fruitcases."

Alex frowned.

"That man bought me up," she said, "he's always been there for me. He's the one person I can always rely on."

Her words were like a slab in the guts. He might as well have been Kim for the way that knife twisted. She actually _believed_ that. She thought that Evan would always be there, that he would never let her down.

_She's got no idea. No idea at all._

No idea about her parents. No idea he was banging her mother. No idea Layton's coming after him for a fistful of cash.

No idea that he's going to practically sign her death warrant.

He stared at Alex, the empty look in her eyes. She had so very little in her life. A daughter who was growing up and didn't need her the way she used to, a godfather who'd been lying to her all her life, a job that had grown to frustrate her, no friends, no lovers and such a dim view of sex left from her last partner that she panicked about having to do a _siren_ impersonation in bed.

He thought about Bolly, _his_ Alex back home. Her life, her vibrancy, how – despite fighting it every step of the way at first – arriving in his world brought out the life in her. Gave her friends. Gave her a chance to be _out there_, putting her skills to use every day instead of sitting behind a desk for most of the time, ticking boxes. It gave her life. And it gave her love. He'd seen a glimpse the night before of what Alex wanted from life and she wasn't going to find it in two thousand and bollocks.

She needed him. She needed his world. She needed that life and that passion.

She would gain so much when she crossed that line.

It was the first time Gene had seen it that way.

"What?"

He glanced at her. She was looking at him curiously.

"What yerself."

"You were smirking," she said.

"Gene Hunt does not _smirk,"_ Gene told her.

"Oh really? Then maybe you are _Edgar_ after all." They both gave a little, awkward smile and Alex looked away. There was something weighing on her mind, and it was more than just the hangover that was banging away. "Gene, last night."

Gene shuffled uncomfortably.

"Which parts specifically?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

Alex looked at him awkwardly.

"You have someone waiting for you," she said, "don't you?"

Gene caught her eye. He nodded slowly.

"I told you that," he said quietly.

She looked down.

"What will you tell her?" she asked.

Gene closed his eyes and rubbed his face roughly.

"The truth," he said. He glanced at her. "Maybe she already knows."

"How could she?" Alex asked.

Gene shook his head.

"Complicated," was all he would mumble. Once again he'd have done anything for a bit of Shoebury's sci fi brain.

"Well," she said quietly, "I hope things work out."

Gene nodded slowly.

"They will," he said quietly.

An awkward silence fell, Neither really knew what to say but both felt reluctant to end the conversation and to break away from the bond they'd built to go back to their separate existences.

"So what are you going to do now?" she asked him.

Gene shook his head.

"Don't know," he said, "Don't know if anything's changed. Has in me head."

"What do you mean?"

Gene was almost reluctant to admit it in case it spoilt things but eventually he said,

"You talked a lot of sense into me last night. Need to stop focusing on the crap side. I never used to, and it had always been there. I lost sight of what we really do. How we help." He nodded. "I owe you."

"You can pay me back by getting some alka seltzers," Alex told him but Gene wasn't going to let her palm it off as a joke.

"I mean it," he said, "you're not half bad at this psychiatry bollocks."

"_Psychology_."

Gene tried not to smile. There was that lovely taste of home.

"That an' all," he said.

One more glance, a tiny smile and a moment of familiarity passed between them. Then finally Alex sat her cup down on the table and got to her feet.

"I need to go and make use of the bathroom facilities before my bladder gives up hope and runs away from me," she said, "If you want to make yourself useful you can go and get some breakfast and some painkillers." She rubbed her forehead. "I knew there was a reason I didn't drink in the day."

She gave him a slightly sheepish smile before she made her way onto the bathroom, leaving Gene staring after her. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He really didn't know where things were going to go from there. Maybe he should ask her to drive him down to London when he got his car back? Or maybe he should see if they could find out anything about Sam Tyler's Splat Zone while he was there. He had no idea .He gulped down the rest of his coffee, pulling a face at its bitterness, then got to his feet and pulled on his shirt. He buttoned it in haste and managed to get half of them fastened in the wrong button holes, undid them, started again and pushed his hand back through his hair. He checked his wallet and found that he still had enough left for breakfast, scotch and medical supplies so he put on his shoes and got to his feet.

"Bye, Bolly," he mumbled quietly as he left the room but she had no chance of hearing him over the sound of the shower that had started to run. He felt strange as he left the room, closing the door behind him. It had been the most surreal experience of his entire life. He didn't stand to think about where things would go from there.

He kept his eyes low as he made his way out of the hotel. He wasn't entirely sure where he was going. Manchester had changed greatly since he'd moved to London and this wasn't even the world he was used to. He wondered where was the best place to find a decent bacon sandwich and had put only a foot in the road when he found himself flat up against the front of a large truck like a squashed fly for a second before he tumbled and rolled along the road, out for the count, blackness enveloping his troubled thoughts.

He didn't see the large man with the beard, beer gut and trucking tattoos that ran, swearing from the vehicle, muttering about how he was definitely going to get the sack and needed to seek a new career offering bed baths to the infirm.

He didn't see the swarm of bystanders who gathered around, calling ambulances and checking for a pulse.

He neither saw nor heard the commotion around him. His time in 2007 had come crashing to an end.

~xXx~

Robin and Simon had a strange sense of déjà vu as they say at the entrance to Montana Yard, watching for Billy Hocker. It felt like just yesterday when they'd been in the same place on a stakeout, watching for Nailer. The one difference being that last time they'd been in separate vehicles; Simon paired with Gene and Robin with Alex. It was strange how that almost foreshadowed the way their lives would run for a good part of the next year.

"Seems weird to be back here," Robin commented as he handed the binoculars to Simon.

"Wouldn't have still been standing in the real world," Simon commented,"Nailer's bomb would have destroyed it."

"Simon?"

"Yes?"

Robin scratched his head.

"If the chance arises," he began, "you have my full blessing to pull Hocker's pants down and sit on the bastard."

"You don't like this guy, do you?" Simon was almost amused.

"He becomes a nasty little…" Robin almost used a word which was too severe even for him. He tried to pick a slightly more subtle one, "_testicle_," he decided, "if we can stop him here and now then at least this will be one world that he'd not going to reign havoc in." he paused and glanced at Simon. "Did you know Jake was asking about us?"

Simon let the binoculars lower a little as he glanced at Robin.

"Asking what?"

"If we were together."

Simon couldn't help the sinking of his heart. He looked down, wishing that the situation was different; that Robin had told him yes.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said that we used to be," said Robin.

Simon nodded.

"Accurate," he said quietly. He paused to take a deep breath. "Why was he asking?"

"Because we had _chemistry_, apparently," Robin said quietly.

Simon looked at him sadly.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "we did."

A strange, strained moment of silence followed, nether quite able to meet the other's glance, until the crackling of the radio broke the atmosphere and Jake's voice came bursting through.

"_Movement sighted in building,"_ he began, "_haven't confirmed that it's Hocker though."_

Simon took the radio.

"Thanks, Jake," he said, "keep watching."

"_Think he's moving through the building in your direction, sir_," Jake informed him.

"We've got the building in our sights, we'll keep watch from this direction," said Simon.

Robin stared out of the window and kept his eyes fixed on the building, stifling a yawn.

"Billy Hocker Trouser Removal commencing shortly," he said.

~xXx~

"You like him, don't you?"

Jake carried on peering through the binoculars.

"I'm not interested in romance, Marci, you know that."

"Why were you asking all the questions then?" Marci challenged.

"You wanted to know too," Jake reminded her.

"Only because I was confused after what Shaz said."

"Yeah, well, she only heard it second hand… third hand or something," said Jake, "

"Did you find out why they really broke up?"

"I'm not Pinocchio, my nose isn't big enough _that_," said Jake, "you're the one with all the questions, ask them yourself!" he handed her the binoculars and dug into the bag of popcorn they were sharing for a slightly off-beat breakfast. They'd had no time to get anything more substantial and it had been the only thing Marci had in the boot.

"Why don't you invite him clubbing next time?" she suggested.

"Why don't _you?"_

"Jesus, there's no helping some people, is there?"

"I don't need help, I am faithful only to my promotion prospects," Jake pulled a face and got a handful of popcorn dumped in his direction for his troubles. "_Charming."_

The radio sprung to life as Simon's voice began;

"_You were right, Hocker's on our side of the building now. Positive ID, its definitely him. We'll need to move fast. Nailer's got an escape route in that building and Hocker knows about it. Stand by."_

Marci and Jake exchange a glance.

"Things are moving fast," said Jake.

"More than can be said for whatever passes for your love life," said Marci.

~xXx~

"Sweet dreams?"

The voice jolted Alex awake with a racing pulse and a gasp and she sat bolt-upright. The side of her face felt creased from laying against Gene's rough bed sheets and her hair as falling over her eyes but she didn't need her full range of vision to see who it was.

"Keats," she hissed, scrambling to her feet, "how the hell did you get back in? Security –"

"Security can only do something about it if I enter through the doors," Keats smiled pleasantly, "and doors hold no interest to me any more. What's the fun in doors?"

"They're not supposed to be fun, they're supposed to be functional," Alex said patronisingly, "that's why there's no 'door' section in _Toys R Us."_

"Very amusing, Alex," Keats raised an eyebrow, "you should become a comedian. Your relationship's a joke for a start." He saw the angry look in Alex's eye as she glowered at him. "I never would have expected it from you. But then, it's always the quiet ones."

Alex stood her ground.

"Let me show you how quiet I can be," she hissed as she hit the alarm and a loud bleeping started up. Keats scowled and gave her a disgruntled moan.

"You're not going to have hospital security lurking around the corner all the time" he warned, "what are you going to do when he wakes up? Hmm?" his eyes moved to Gene. "What's it worth to keep your little secret exactly that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you do. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Like a modern-day adaptation of _Tipping the Velvet_, it was."

"If you think anyone's going to believe you've been watching the world out there then you're crazier than I thought."

"How _else_ would I know?" Keats smiled amiably, "cheaper than subscribing to the Adult Channel, I'll give you that." He leaned against the doorpost. "So. What's my silence worth?"

Alex stared at him, shaking as her anger grew to colossal proportions.

"Nothing," she hissed furiously, "because it won't be a secret any more."

"Like you're going to tell him," Keats laughed as a nurse arrived in the doorway.

"I need security!" Alex told her loudly.

Keats rolled his eyes and turned to the nurse.

"No need, I'm just leaving," he said, "just wanted to have a word with DCI Drake here. Keep her up to speed." He raised his eyebrow. "And, Alex, don't stay hanging around the hospital for too long, will you?" he said, "you'll want to go home, get a shower, get a change of clothes," he smiled, "you _do_ know where the closet is, right, Alex?"

As he turned and left his laughter hung in the air to haunt and infuriate her. She found herself trembling with anger, not only at him but at herself. If she'd only told Gene while she had the chance then Keats would have nothing over her and this wouldn't be happening. She silently begged for Gene to awaken. Wherever he was, he needed to find his way home.

~xXx~

The sound of the water slowly awoke him. He had no idea what happened, he remembered trying to work out where to buy breakfast and then suddenly he was seeing spinning loofahs before his eyes before the world and everything in it turned to the deepest shade of black.

In the distance he heard the sound of a car. Where the hell was he now? His eyes opened slowly and he tried to work out where he was or what he was doing. The sound of the car pulling up dragged his eyes away from the water to the vehicle that stopped a distance away. He blinked a couple of times and tried to focus but quickly he regretted it.

There were two figures in the distance; her in a suit of dark blue, him in a scraggly mess with a gun held before him.

It wasn't unexpected. Deep down Gene knew this was where it had all been leading, but that didn't mean it shook him up any the less.

He could hear her voice, doing all she could to mask her fear.

"_How do you know me? What do you want?"_

And his;

"_Shut up! Now you... you're going to be my ticket out of this mess, Alex Drake, yeah?"_

Gene took a deep breath. His heart rate rocketed. This was it, this was the moment that everything had built right up to. Whatever happened in the next few minutes would decide his fate.

And considering his track record to that point, that was a thought that scared him shitless.


	33. Chapter 32: Final Countdown

_**A/N: So I wasn't going to post this until I got home tonight. But then I realised that since I'm spending my birthday dragging my family to Layton-related locations from A2A S1 Ep1 this chapter was peculiarly appropriate for today, And THEN I got freaked out because I remembered what happened when it was Molly's birthday and I started wondering if I was supposed to be getting a seriously chocolaty birthday cake or going home and taking the piss out of Evan or something? Oh wait, I do that anyway… But seriously, I am now paranoid that I'm going to get kidnapped by Layton… So I thought I should post while I had the chance :P And also, today is Robin's birthday because I am that cheesy that I have given my birthday to one of my characters. Just don't buy him a crocodile… **_

_**Also, I didn't get to email or PM yesterday, I'm sorry. I've not been online a great deal this week, I'll be more sociable when today is out the way. Morgana and Charlotte, thank you for being patient x**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 32**

"_Move!"_

The pained noise that Alex made as Layton forced her onto the gangway down to the crusty old barge killed Gene inside. The sight of her being led to her death forced his body to move before he even knew what he was doing and his feet pounded against the ground, leading him closer to the gangway all the time.

So many deaths, so many of his colleagues and friends losing their lives in front of his eyes. This time things were going to be different.

~xXx~

"Uh oh. He's making a move," robin put down the binoculars and turned to Simon, "I remember this from last time."

Simon nodded.

"Jake, Marci. Stand by," he said, "We need to move fast. There's a panel on the side of the building that he may try to drive through. It was Nailer's escape route. We're going to drive into the grounds and leave the car against it to block him before he can get enough speed up to force the car away. Then one of us will take the exit on our side. You both know your entrances, right?"

There was a crackle.

_"We'd know them better if something hadn't eaten the map,"_ Jake's voice sounded a little strained as he recalled the crocodile.

Simon glanced at Robin who folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, well as long as you've got a vague idea…" he said. He paused. "Alright, action time. _Move."_

~xXx~

Gene could barely think as he gave chase, too far behind for Alex or Layton for them to hear his footsteps as he moved as fast as he could toward them. He couldn't think, he couldn't stop for a moment, he just had to keep going and get there. This whole thing had started with an attempt to stop Layton from taking a life. This time nothing was going to go wrong. This time a life was not going to be lost. This time Bolly was not going to –

_Bolly._

As his feet reached the walkway he felt s strange churning feeling in his stomach and his temples started to throb. His pace slowed right down until he was barely putting one foot in front of the other.

Bolly was waiting for him at home. She was waiting for him in 1997. She was waiting for him to find his way back. She'd been by his side for the best part of sixteen years, give or take, and even though she'd struggled she'd found her feet. She'd found _more_ than that. She'd found a life.

As he set one foot in front of the other and drew nearer to the barge he swallowed and thought about the Alex he'd met there; the one he'd shared one strange but wonderful night with. He recalled the look on her face and her words as she spoke about her life. No friends… no love or intimacy… even her job was dragging her down. She didn't want to be behind her desk, she wanted to be out there, making a real difference, and arriving in his world would give her the opportunity.

But… but there were things that she would miss. Things his Alex struggled so hard to let go and leave behind. Her daughter…

Molly…

Who she fought so…

"…_I mean, she's growing up fast… always wants to spend time with her friends instead of silly old mum… but when I do see her it's… it's lovely…"_

He replayed her words, Alex's very own statement. And then he recalled the choice his Alex had made. She left Molly behind for him. She chose to say goodbye to her daughter to get back to the man she'd spent more than a decade and a half beside.

He tried to think of anything – anything at al – that Alex ultimately missed… that she needed to stay behind for… Evan? The bearded twat who she would finally learn the truth about? No bloody chance. Her work? Not when she'd grown so stale and frustrated. Her social life? Gym membership and a boyfriend from three years' previous who would fap along to the loudest siren on YouTube?

Nothing.

She had… _nothing_.

Not until she left the real word behind and took a transfer to Fenchurch East.

It started to make sense to him now. With each slow, cautious footstep he took, careful to make as little sound as possible, things started to make sense in his mind. He'd been shown all those deaths for a reason. He'd had their blood on his hands not only because of the guilt that he felt but to remind him that each and every one of those souls had taken something important from their time in his world.

And they'd lost too. They'd lost their family their friends, their lovers, their world – but they had gained and they had grown.

Simon had more common sense than he'd ever had at his disposal before and he'd discovered where his DNA really came from. Robin turned from a victim to a fighter. And Kim was given the ability to love; something she'd never expected to find. As for Sam bloody Tyler – well, he took everything he'd ever wanted in life as he made the jump. And he wasn't the only one who'd ever made a leap of faith. He recalled a certain Alex Drake who'd taken flight from a pub window to get back to him.

They came _back_ to him.

Some might have been unwilling but Sam and Alex? They both knew enough to know where they belonged.

He was there now; at the entrance of the barge. The sight of Alex, so alone and scared smashed his heart into pieces but he didn't dare move, he didn't dare do a thing. He knew now. He wasn't supposed to _stop_ this. He was supposed to watch. It would break his heart in ways he'd never imagined it could shatter before but he had to see the moment Alex passed into his world. This was it. This was why he was there.

He needed to watch her make her first trip home.

She would struggle and she would fight but then she'd find it all.

Love. Friendship. A job that inspired her. A social life that burned brightly night after night.

And there would be heartache, there would be trouble, there would be times when she'd be brought to tears, but she would be alive. That's what every damn emotion would make her feel. It was more than she ever felt in the real world, in her quiet, grey existence.

She needed his world.

And she needed him.

"_What could my parents possibly have to do with any of this?"_ he heard her cry, _"They've been dead a long time."_

He swallowed as he cautiously peered around the corner. Oh _god_, this was painful. He braced himself for what he knew was coming.

"_I had an empire, yeah? Back in the day. I had connections. I had dealers on every street corner..."_

Gene flinched. He'd seen this before in glorious Technicolor on the little TV in his office. Alex's tape had already shown him what she'd had to go through but the live-action version was so much harder to bear.

"_And things went wrong? Do you want to talk about that?"_

Oh god, it was coming. The moment was coming. There was Layton… there were those mirrored sunglasses… and there, of course, was his gun. The moment was coming and Gene could only wait and watch as –

_Crunch_.

One single stick beneath Gene's foot crumbled as he shifted his weight.

Layton's entire body froze like a statue, then he spun around with the grace of a ghost and hissed,

"_Who's that?"_

_Oh Shit… Oh holy fucking shit…_

Gene swallowed anxiously and tried to draw himself back against the wall out of sight but his foot scuffed along the uneven floor and Layton knew for certain there was someone nearby.

"_I can hear you_…" he cried, his voice urgent and fretful and although Gene tried to stay as still as a stone he'd already disturbed him enough to throw everything into chaos.

With her eyes wide and her mouth dry, Alex scanned the barge for any sign of life. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it thumping in her ears and she swallowed hard as she trembled and shook. Then came the sound of someone's clothing scraping against the side of the barge and she couldn't hold back.

_"Help me,"_ she screamed in a desperate, breathy gasp, "_Please he-"_

The end of her anguished cry was silenced by the firing if a gun. One shot, two, three – the third was aimed back in Gene's direction and after ducking and swearing he instinctively reached for his own gun. To his surprise it was there, it was actually _there_. He heard footsteps pounding in his direction. Oh _shit_, here he came –

As Layton reached him, Gene grasped him buy the back of his grabby coat and tried desperately to hold onto him but fired up on adrenaline and narcotics he slammed an elbow into the side of Gene's neck and knocked him to the ground. The fall winded Gene for a moment, took his breath right away, but he managed to fire one shot in the general direction of a fleeing Layton who used the distraction to let it for the barge.

For a few seconds Gene lay there against the floor, shocked and breathless. Then just as he was trying to work out what to do he heard quiet, pained sobs and a gentle whimper. His eyes widened as he remembered the first two gunshots and the woman around the corner, just out of the darkness.

"_Bolly."_

The scramble to his feet would have been easier had the floor of the boat been even but he just about hauled himself upright and stumbled forward out of the shadows towards the woman who'd been staring down the barrel of Layton's gun. There was blood but it wasn't on her head. There was a bullet hole but it was in her chest; on the self-same spot that she had been shot during her desperate struggle to make it home before. He met her stare and the shock across her face was obvious to see.

As she panted and gasped in pain her eyes widened and she locked her sights on him.

"It's _you,"_ she breathed her heart already speeding up. She didn't think that was possible; wasn't the fear of being kidnapped and shot going to do enough? No, apparently not – the man standing before her had managed to push her heart rate to an inexplicable speed.

"It's me," he confirmed. He found himself trembling at the sight as she raised a hand to her chest where the pain was tormenting her.

"You never came back," she whispered with tears beginning to tumble from the corners of her eyes.

Gene stared back, his own emotions striking a level he wasn't used to and refused to admit he was capable of.

"No," he whispered.

"You couldn't, could you?" Alex's words were starting to fade as the pain became unbearable.

Gene shook his head.

"I couldn't," he said quietly.

Alex closed her eyes and nodded slowly. She'd known it. When he didn't reappear on that strange, surreal April morning the previous year she'd known that something had happened once again and that Gene had vanished from that moment in time and reality. She had never expected to see him again, but had never stopped hoping and never stopped yearning. Of all the circumstances she'd pictured leading to their reacquaintance none had been so far removed from her imagination.

His eyes moved to the blood seeping from her chest. He'd seen enough gunshot wounds to know that wasn't enough. It wasn't nice and it clearly hurt like fuck but it wasn't going to kill her. Not for a very, _very_ long time, lying there without help or treatment. She could be lying in agony for hours, he couldn't let her go through that. He'd ruined it, he'd fucking ruined _everything_. Why did he have to go to the barge? As soon as he realised she needed to die why the hell hadn't he stayed away?

All the times he was trying to save their lives, he'd killed them. Now that he understood and needed for her to die –

There was a strange look in her eye as her mouth dropped open and she whispered,

"You know me. Don't you?" he didn't speak. He didn't nod. But he didn't need to. She could already see his answer. She swallowed as she whispered, "That's why you came to find me. That's why you call me those names."

Gene bit rather severely on the inside of his lip. Very slowly he gave a nod.

"Yes, Bolly," his voice was low and full of pain, "I do."

"I'm _there_, aren't I?" Alex whispered, every breath becoming harder to deal with.

With blurred vision he nodded.

"You're more than '_there,"_ he said quietly, "you're ruling the roost."

"Who am I there?" she whispered.

Gene swallowed as he knelt beside her, afraid to move any closer.

"You're DCI Alex Drake," his voice shook, "head of emerging narcotics, affiliated with CID at Fenchurch East," his eyes closed as he added, "and the soon to be Missus Hunt."

He kept his eyes closed. He didn't; want to see her response. He feared a look of disgust or horror, but if his eyes had stayed open he'd have seen a very different reaction.

That one night had been the most memorable of her life. It had been a beacon of warmth, passion and humanity in the middle of a long, drawn-out sludge of grey days, interspersed with occasional moments of yearning for him to find her again one day, if he wasn't already back in whatever part of reality he'd hailed from. She looked at him, recalling the things she'd learned of his world; the way that he'd spoken, the passion that he held for it.

"You're here for me," she whispered, "aren't you?"

He opened his eyes, surprise to see the pleading look in hers. There were tears starting to slide down her cheeks, leaving trails in the grubby layer the barge had instantly added to her skin. The pain in her chest was crushing but as she concentrated on his face it seemed to fade away.

He stared. He trembled. For the longest time he didn't know what to do or to say. But finally his finger closed around his trigger and he found himself slowly raising his gun. His hand shook crazily, he felt ashamed that he couldn't stop it, but this wasn't a moment he had anticipated in his life and he couldn't fight it. He drew together his strength; he'd need every drop to cope with what he was about to do, and then he gave her a reply he'd never expected to.

"_Yes,"_ he whispered.

He remembered Alex's tape, watching Kim help her home. Back then he couldn't have ever imagined how she'd found the strength to do such a thing. Now he was there, in that same situation, with no choice but to take her life away. If he didn't then her future would be a continuation of those long, grey days and she would never find the joy and the passion that he knew awaited her on the other side. She deserved that. She deserved every moment on the other side of the line.

He lifted his gun and took aim, shaking so hard that he feared he would miss, then he closed his eyes as she did the same. This was it. There was no avoiding it,

"_I'll see you on the other side,"_ he promised before his finger squeezed the trigger and a deafening bang brought the moment to its close.

He heard her body fall. He waited; one heartbeat. Two. Three. Taking a deep breath he slowly opened his eyes and saw her lying before him, the hole in her forehead where a tiny trail of blood was starting to appear, Oh _god_, this was awful; to see her lying there, so lifeless, so cold, and for a moment his stomach churned with a horror-induced nausea that he just couldn't handle but as he drew closer to her and lifted her head into his lap he felt quite literally every piece of the puzzle slotting into place for him.

He still didn't know where he was or how real the world around him had been but he knew why he'd been there. Over a lot of months his view of his world and the work that he did had become twisted. He'd lost his faith and confidence in what he was doing. He carried guilt for things that were not his fault and a lack of faith in the point of the world around him. But now he'd revisited his passion for his work and his faith in the way it helped those who lost their life too soon. One woman, one amazing woman had helped him to see.

Because no one had fallen for his world in quite the same way as Alex. Even when Sam went back he was simply living his own life. He didn't know the full story of the world or what it meant to be a part of it. Alex was different. Her body might have clung on in the outside world for a very long time but it was in _his_ world that she truly began to live.

As he stared down at her face he felt a strange racing in his heart. Somewhere out there, on the other side, she was awakening in more ways than one. Dressed as a classy hooker, she'd be thrown into chaos but the clouds would slowly clear. She had her whole life still ahead of her. He'd given her back that chance.

"_Come back to clear up my mess."_

Layton's voice came out of the blue and Gene's neck spun around quickly to see him there, right behind him, gun held before him. He'd gone ten meters from the barge when he realised the intruder had seen him and he wasn't going to let some stranger give him away.

_Bang._

Gene stood no chance; he couldn't have done a thing. Layton reacted in an instant, his gun gifting Gene's head with a bullet wound that sent him sprawling across Alex's body in one big tangle of blood and limbs.

The last thought that passed through Gene's head was of his first days in this strange world, the hospital in 2012; the strange story he'd been spun about being a _have-a-go hero_ and trying to stop Layton from taking the lives of Alex and Kim. The bullet in his head back then seemed to have become a reality now.

_A full circle._

His eyes closed in an instant.

It was time to go home.

~xXx~

"_Alright – count of three, Three, two, o-"_

"_Simon, that's a bloody countdown, not a count of three."_

"_Was it?"_

"_Yes! You've got to go in the other direction."_

"_You want to take over?" _

"_No,"_

"_Then let me get on with it!"_

"_Fine,"_

"_Alright, stand by – one, two, THREE –"_

~xXx~

Her fingers stroked his cheek.

"Come on, Gene, come back to me," she pleaded, "I know you're out there somewhere. But _I'm_ the one who needs you now, Come home, Gene. _Please_, just… come _home_."

~xXx~

A screeching of tyres; the car pulled up outside of the building and a scramble to leave the vehicle followed.

"_Simon, you'll have to climb over this side, you can't get out there."_

"_Ow!"_

"_What?"_

"_Gearstick up my arse!"_

"_Hurry up, would you?"_

"_Easy for you to say. Besides, that's the most action I've had since I died."_

~xXx~

The hum of machines, the bleeping of the monitors… they were slowly driving Alex insane, a constant reminder of Gene's condition.

She closed her eyes as she held his hand and squeezed it gently with love and tenderness.

The tiniest flicker came across his eyelids, for now unseen

~xXx~

"_Jake, Marci, man your exits, We'll –"_

"_Si, that's him -"_

A chase; footsteps pounding at a violent pace… a yell, a cry, a grab and a gunshot that missed flesh and skimmed the side of the car.

One man grasped by hands, shackled in cuffs and captured in a heartbeat.

"_We got him."_

~xXx~

"Ma'am?"

Alex glanced up

"Eddie," she frowned, "what are you –"

"Urgent message from DCI Shoebury," he said, "They caught Hocker."

Alex's eyes opened wide.

"They have?"

Eddie nodded.

"They're taking him in now," he told her, "someone will be over with more news when they can."

A wave of relief washed over Alex. If he was indeed the one who'd done this to Gene then bringing him in was one step that she was glad had taken place. But she knew Gene still had the hard part to do himself.

"Thank you," she said quietly with a weak smile.

Eddie nodded and left in a hurry. Hospitals made him nervous, And, for that matter, so did Gene.

~xXx~

It wasn't Gene's life that flashed before his eyes, it was a long string of other lives; all of the people whose blood had been on his hands. He saw it all differently now. He knew that he couldn't be held responsible for the dark times and the sadness that they had faced – that was a part of life no matter what plain of reality you embraced.

But he was there for them. He helped them to grow. His world was there for them.

And it was waiting for him to return.

~xXx~

This time as his eyelids fluttered just a little she saw them. Her heart jumped into her throat as she gasped,

"_Gene?"_

Reflex reaction? Muscle spasms? Could have been any number of reasons for it. But as they opened completely and eyes of blue stared back at her she knew that the explanation she prayed for was the right one.

"_Gene -"_

She could barely breathe. Her relief choked her, strangled her, stopped her from taking in the oxygen she needed as she dived upon him, wrapped her arms around his face and whispered over and over; _"oh thank you, thank you, oh thank you… "_

He pressed her cheek against his to bring home the reality that he was _there_, right there beside her, that his eyes were open and his vision beginning to focus on where she stood.

"_Gene,"_ she whispered, "can you talk to me?" He gave a low groan which was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, "You can hear me… you're really alive… you're really awake…" she moved so close and stared right into his eyes, her fingers gently skimming the bandage on his head. "Are… you are alright?" she realised that was a stupid question, "I mean, can you speak to me?" she swallowed, terrified of the potential damage that blow could have caused, "can you… remember... _anything?"_

Gene stared back. There were several moments of silence as he tried to remember how to work his voice and how to make words, then finally, with a deep breath he whispered,

"_Giraffes."_

Alex froze. She drew back a little with her eyes widening.

"Giraffes?" she repeated incredulously.

"Bloody… long necked _bastards_…" Gene rasped, his voice barely audible, "roaming the corridors… getting their tall bloody heads where they're not want-_Mmmmfffpphphh…"_ The end of his rant was halted as Alex cut him off by pressing her lips to his and closing her eyes. Her kiss was warming, gentle and full of the love that he needed to wake up to. When he drew away and looked at him once again, a smile upon her face. She couldn't remember ever feeling such an overwhelming sense of love and relief in her entire life.

Giraffes or not, Gene was back home where he belonged. And although there were things to deal with from here on in she knew that everything would be alright. The world, and his faith in it, were stronger than ever.


	34. Chapter 33: Goodbye Future, Hello Past

**A/N: Thank you for the birthday wishes yesterday :) I had great fun dragging my family all round outside the Tate Modern and managed to escape getting either shot or held hostage, and there was no sign of Layton! I am exhausted and way behind with stuff now but it was well and truly worth it! **

**And now back to your regularly scheduled crocodile-related bloodbath!**

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 33**

Simon and Robin watched as Jake and Marci busied themselves processing Hocker's arrest.

"For a nobody he does an awful lot of damage," Robin said quietly. He hung his head a little as he recalled the instant Hocker's car knocked Kim to the ground back in the real world. It was strange that in all those interim years Hocker had never really made any progress in his life. He was never destined for great things, just scrambling around for what he could get.

"Sir!" Eddie flew at them, barely stopping in time. Simon feared he was about to get an Eddie in the head and held his crocodile out to protect himself but luckily for everyone involved Eddie managed to stop a short distance away.

"What's wrong?" Simon cried in alarm.

Eddie panted and clutched his chest. He'd never run so fast in his life.

"Hospital," he panted.

"Yes, you look like you need it," Simon feared he was about to have a heart attack.

"Just came back… went to tell DCI Drake about Hocker," he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. "As I was leaving she called me back. She thought you'd want to know."

"Know what?" Simon was seriously considering seeking medical advice for Eddie.

"DCI Hunt," Eddie panted. A look of anxiety crossed Simon's face.

"What's happened?"

Eddie took a deep breath.

"The Guv's awake."

Simon's eyes widened. He turned to Robin, shocked by the news.

"He's…" He looked back to Eddie, "Is he alright? I mean, has there been any permanent damage, or…?"

"He's rambl-_talking_," he corrected, "something about wild animals in the corridors…. And putting a hole in the super's ceiling… but he's awake."

"Oh thank _god_," Simon's eyes closed and he felt himself falling back against the wall. For a horrible moment Robin thought he was about to collapse but he stayed on his feet. "Oh shit, Hocker –"

"I'll deal with him," Robin pushed him gently towards the exit, "just go. You go."

"Are you sure?"

"We're fine, go and see him," said Robin.

Simon spun around, pressed his hand to his head and mumbled,

"Shit… I'm shaking. My head's spinning."

Robin closed his eyes for a moment.

"You've had no sleep," he said. He glanced at Jake and Marci, with Marci giving a leering Hocker a smack to the head, proving she wasn't so nicey-nicey after all. "I'll drive," he said, "I'll drive you. Come on, they'll be fine."

"You've not slept either," Simon pointed out, still walking in circles.

"At least I've got more direction than you at the moment, you look like your bloody crocodile," said Robin, "and it's not my father in hospital."

"_Stop calling him that,"_ Simon said crossly.

"Friend then," said Robin, "just get out to the car, I'll explain what's happened and be out in a minute."

"Right." Simon tried to straighten his thoughts. "thanks, Rob."

"Simon," Robin put out his hand to halt him.

"What?"

"wrong direction."

Simon closed his eyes,

"Shit. Sorry," he mumbled and reversed.

Robin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been an intense 24 hours. When all of this was over he was going to sleep for a week.

~xXx~

"I need yer help, Bols."

Alex had spent the last half an hour just staring at Gene, relishing the sight of his open eyes, smiling with relief and tracing her fingers across his face and his torso. He'd been quiet for the most part once he'd managed to get over his apparent deep-seated rage and bile for animals of the long-necked variety but that hadn't mattered. She was just relieved to see him awake and able to speak, if not coherently. The medical staff had assured her that he was simply under a high level of pain medication and that as his dose was gradually reduced he would begin to make sense once again.

It was the first time either of them had spoken in several minutes and she looked at him curiously.

"What is it, Gene?" she asked, "do you need water?" he'd been less than impressed by the tiny glass and stripy straw he'd been allowed.

"It's come to my attention that I appear to resemble a twat," Gene told her.

Alex froze. She frowned at him.

"In what way?" she demanded.

"I am wearing one of these backless bastards," Gene told her, "I've had enough of those smocks to last me three lifetimes and an eternity."

Alex frowned.

"When have you _ever_ worn one of those?" she demanded. Gene had rarely been hurt or injured and even taking an occasional scrape or a bullet he would refuse to don one of the things.

"Not important," he told her, "what's important is me dignity. Shoebury's going to come bursting through that door any minute with a basket of Red Dwarf merchandise to green me return to consciousness and I don't want him committing this get-up to memory to torture me with for the next millennium/"

"What do you want me to do?" frowned Alex.

"Get me shirt," said Gene.

"It's got blood on it," Alex frowned.

"Last it'll make me look like a man instead of an extra from _Casualty_," said Gene.

Alex looked at him sadly.

"You weren't an extra, you were the star of your very own episode," she said, her voice trembling just a little, "I thought I'd lost you."

"Where else was I going to go?" Gene asked, "touring the loudest tornado sirens across America?"

Alex froze, her eyes wide with the horror of something she hadn't thought of in many years, decades even.

"W-why would you say that?" she whispered, "where the hell has that come from?"

Gene felt a little guilty. _Wrong Alex._ He didn't recall his Bolly ever mentioning the Siren-Fapper. _Backtrack, Gene, backtrack –_

"I could have said Fenchurch West!" he said accusingly, "what would you rather have me do, look at sirens or go and spend me days in Jimbo's basement?"

Alex paused.

"I'll get the transfer papers," she said to a slightly horrified look from Gene but a mass of footsteps stopped him from responding and a second later Simon and Robin clattered into the doorway. Simon was holding a bunch of headless flowers.

"Jesus, Shoebury, you've outdone yerself," Gene eyed them up.

"You're alive," Simon sounded genuinely surprised.

"Which allows me to do two things," Gene told him as he laid back against his pillows, still unable to move, "one, to give you a right sodding roasting for buying me _flowers_, and two, to give you _another_ sodding roasting for getting me flowers with no flaming _heads_ on them!"

"They _had_ heads," Simon protested.

"Yes, something happened to them, _didn't_ it, Simon?" Robin folded his arms and eyed the crocodile in Simon's other hand.

"Oh bloody hell, you've still got that thing?" Gene started to wish he'd stayed in two thousand and bollocks.

"Not for much longer," Robin narrowed his eyes, "I'm going to turn it into a handbag-_OUCH!"_

Simon seemed hugely unconcerned as the crocodile bit Robin on the arm.

"Serves you right," he said.

"Excuse me?" a nurse hovered at the door looking cross, "it's still family only."

"I _am_ family," Simon said, not really thinking about it, then glanced awkwardly at Gene.

"What about you?" the nurse turned to Robin.

"I'm… the family… _pet?"_ he tried. He wasn't very good at lying. "Fine, I'll leave."

He hung his head and walked to the door.

"Look after this for a minute would you?" Simon held out the croc in his direction.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"I'll buy you a plate of beans in the canteen afterwards," Simon promised.

Robin hesitated. He looked from Simon to the croc and back again.

"_Two_ plates of beans," he said.

"Deal."

Reluctantly Robin took the crocodile and held it at arm's length, snapping and biting. Simon listened to the shouts and curses of pain that Robin unleashed before he turned back to Gene.

"Nice smock," he said warily.

Gene shot a murderous glance at Alex.

_"One thing_ I asked you to help with, Drake! _One thing!"_

"Simon won't tease you," said Alex, "will you, Simon?"

Simon looked shifty.

"Much," he said.

"I'm not too far gone to make a noose out of me bloody drip tube," Gene threatened.

"Sorry."

Gene hesitated. He looked at Alex a little nervously and said,

"Bols, I need to bend Shoebury's ear for a moment. Any chance of you restocking yer caffeine levels?"

Alex looked a little put out.

"Actually, Gene, I really wanted to speak to you," she said quietly, "privately."

She hoped she hadn't offended Simon by saying so but she needed to speak to Gene before Keats called by with a fruit basket and some interesting news.

"Yeah, well, me an all," Gene seemed uncomfortable suddenly, "but I need some one-on-one tuition on the joys of multi-dimensional time and space."

Simon's face was caught midway between shock and anticipation.

"What, _really?"_ he asked. Then his face fell. "Of course not really. You've just learned a new shoe-shop joke and want to try it out, right?

Gene ignored him and turned to Alex.

"Ten minutes, Bols. That's all. She if you can find a coffee machine that serves something other than mud."

"Last two coffees I had, I'm wearing down my top," she told him.

"Try to get one in yer gob then," said Gene.

Alex knew this was an argument she wasn't going to win. With great reluctance she slowly rose to her feet.

"Ten minutes! She said as she bent over and gently kissed Gene on his bandage, then left the room tiredly. Maybe some caffeine wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Simon watched her leave then glanced at Gene.

"Sending someone for a coffee that wasn't a latte?" he said, "must be serious."

"Sit down, Shoebury," Gene commanded.

Simon's face darkened.

"Now I know it's serious, "what have I done?"

"Apart from being the biggest nerd in Fenchurch, nothing," said Gene.

Simon wasn't sure about that but hesitantly took a seat.

"You're doing well, he commented, "talking. It took me weeks to get my speech back properly after my accident."

Simon's accident was still somewhat of a sore point.

"Let's call a space a spade here, Simon, an accident is falling out of bed. That computer tried to meld with yer mind."

Simon felt somewhat awkward. He couldn't bear to look at Gene lying there, even though he was awake and clearly alive. It made him feel uncomfortable seeing the powerhouse reduced to a backless smock and a bandage that called to mind Humpty Dumpty. It shook Simon deeply, this was a man that he respected and looked up to. And, quite possibly, might have started to slowly accept held some kind of genetic resemblance.

"I thought you were indestructible," he blurted accusingly.

Gene looked at him with a frown.

"Sorry no one thought to titanium-coat my head," he said.

"I'm serious, Gene!" cried Simon, "I thought the rule was we couldn't be killed!"

"Because I'm not alive right now?" asked Gene, "Simon, you're apparently talking to a corpse. No, in fact, I'm a zombie." Simon gave a frustrated sigh and rolled his eyes, "I'm developing a taste for flesh and brains. I'm going to insist _Latte Land_ start serving brain biscuits or I will have to find meself a new hot beverage-related establishment."

"Very funny," Simon mumbled.

Gene sighed.

"Shoebury, I'm still here. I'm not dead. Rule's still working."

"You were _almost_ dead though," Simon said bluntly, "I don't think you realise how seriously hurt you were."

"I realise it," Gene said coldly, "just don't want to think about it." It was true. Even though he hadn't died he was still far more severely hurt than he should have been considering his status. It didn't sit well with him. He couldn't help but wonder if it was connected with other changes that had taken place in his world. Was he now able to die? That thought scared him shitless.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Simon asked him, "oh, please don't tell me you want me to step in and cover CID while you're in here, Terry's already drawn up a list of _Ways To Piss Off DCI Shoebury_ and pinned it to every noticeboard on the station."

"Stop flapping yer lips and listen, I need to pick yer nerdy head," Gene told him.

Simon sighed and awaited the inevitable comments.

"Go on then," he sighed.

Surprisingly, Gene seemed to fall very silent and distant. He looked down at his hands for a moment then back up at Simon.

"Haven't been having a very peaceful sleep, Simon," he said.

"You should ask for some of those little blue and white pills," said Simon, "that'll sort you right out."

Gene ignored that.

"I've been somewhere," he said.

That caught Simon's attention. Coupled with the look on Gene's face, he knew this was serious. He felt his lips grow dry and licked them nervously.

"Where, uh," he cleared his throat, "where exactly have you been?"

"To a land of giraffes and sirens," said Gene.

Simon closed his eyes and stood up.

"I thought this was a serious matter," he said, "not a piss-take."

"It is," Gene told him darkly, "Sit down." Simon didn't move. He didn't go to walk away but he didn't take his seat again either. He hesitated, waiting for Gene to push him one way or the other.

"Then where were you really?" he asked bluntly.

Gene closed his eyes.

"Two thousand and twelve," he said.

Simon stared at him. He was expecting Gene to declare an early April Fool or at the very least to start laughing and mocking him but he stayed silent and the grimace on his face told Simon that this was not going to be a pleasant tale.

"Shit," he said as he sank back into his seat. He stared at Gene. "You'd better not be taking the piss."

Gene stared at a spot just past him on the wall.

"Thought I'd lost me mind," he said, "woke up to a world where they were taxing pasties and rolling Rick Astley down a hill." He paused, "or something." He looked at Simon seriously. "I'm sorry, Simon."

"For what?" Simon wasn't following.

"For the computer that crushed your head and the tree that took your life," he said, "and, also, for calling you every shoe-related name under the sun and offering you Bolly's lipstick and tights."

"Where the bloody hell has this come from?" Simon demanded.

"I know what it's like now," Gene tried to force out the words but they were so difficult to say, "Woke up in a strange world where I didn't belong. Except I didn't go 'back'. I'd gone the other way. How the bloody hell was that possible?"

Simon frowned.

"So you're serious?" He asked.

Gene nodded.

"I was in hospital. Bullet in me head apparently. Heard a very familiar story with two women and Layton on a barge, except I was the surprising extra to the story." He missed out the part about being a traffic warden. He didn't think Simon would ever let him live that down. "I had some other man's identity, Simon. I didn't have me job. Didn't have Alex. Didn't have anything. Ended up in a loop of…" he flinched, "blood on me hands, death, seeing all of you… every one of you… getting hurt." He flinched, "and being the one to cause it, too."

"Gene, you're not making sense," Simon told him,

Gene stared at him.

"It wasn't a dream," he said, "It was real. And if you try to tell me otherwise I'm going to get that crocodile and give you an _extremely_ severe haircut with it."

"Understood," Simon gulped.

Gene took a deep breath, he didn't feel he was getting anywhere

"I went somewhere," he tried, "and I thought it was in me head. But I was wrong. I had lessons to learn. Needed to learn a few things about me own world. Learn to trust and believe in it again. And then, only then was I allowed home."

"This is a bit deep and meaningful for you," Simon accused.

"Then forget me lesson-learning crap and concentrate on the part where I woke up in a crappy bloody reality far, far away!" said Gene, "I want to know how that's possible. Or if I really have jumped ship to loony-land."

Simon bit his lip anxiously and recalled a conversation he'd had with Robin.

"I don't think you're the only one," he said quietly, "do you remember when Keats shot Kim? The bullet meant for me?" Gene nodded. "Robin told me she…" he flinched for a moment, the memory both of Kim's shooting and the fact that Robin was in love with Kim torturing him inside, "…she thought she'd gone home. Thought she was in the real world, but she just… just had some stuff to deal with, before she came back."

Gene closed his eyes. It lined up with an experience Alex had many years ago that she still didn't like to talk about.

"So maybe we're _all_ loonies then," he mumbled.

Simon bit his lip.

"OK," he said quietly, "here's how I see it: This world is here for people like us to go when we have issues we need to work out before we move on, right? Police. Detectives." Gene nodded. "Well, who's to say that your issues don't come from _being_ here?"

"Explain," Gene demanded.

"What if you're here but you have issues you could only solve by being the other side of the line? Like you needed to work through things you'd left behind before you were able to really let yourself become a part of this world? Or that being here has messed you up so badly you need to go into some other dimension to work it through and sort yourself out."

Gene thought in silence for a few moments. He could see that. It definitely related to what he what been through.

"I had _issues_," he said, "somehow let meself develop a bloody guilt complex. Hardest way to learn a lesson, I'm telling you."

Simon nodded.

"And now?" he asked.

Gene hesitated.

"Might still wonder every now and then," he said, "but me head's clearer now."

Simon nodded and gave him a cautious smile.

"Good," he said,.

Gene let his mind wander for a moment. He'd thought his world was the end of the line until such times as someone called last orders on their life and went to the pub. Could there really be another world beyond his? Had his own work and existence become so real that it now needed its own scape? Just as those who were horrifically injured in the real world such as Alex and Sam and Simon had passed naturally to Gene's while their bodies recovered was there another plain of existence beyond his? He supposed he would have to think about this more seriously. He hoped perhaps Alex would be willing to share her coma experience.

"Alright, nerd-brain, I'll give you that," he said, "but I've got a question for you."

"Is that question how come I haven't yet slapped you for constantly referring to me as a nerd-brain?" Simon scowled.

"Don't slap, Shoebury, slapping's for girls," Gene said simply.

Simon rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "Go on. Ask your question."

Gene hesitated.

"How is it possible that I could wake up in two thousand and bollocks when it hasn't happened yet?" he demanded, "it's not like I could have made it up in me head. Even _my_ mind isn't depraved enough to tax pasties."

"Maybe because it didn't come from your head?" sighed Simon, "Gene, what about when people come here and go back? Many of us go to a point where they were so young the first time they don't remember what the world was like. I mean, when I came the second time and woke up in ninety five I remembered it clearly but eighty five? Do me a favour. I've got more memories about my last birthday, despite the fact that I woke up wearing a set of fake horns with my face painted grey and an array of pencils in my underwear." He shuddered, still not quite sure how that had managed to take place.

"I still don't get it," Gene told him.

"If there is another work beyond this one," Simon said quietly, "who's to say it's not as tangible as yours? Maybe it's not based on your brain, such as it is –"

"_Watch it."_

"Maybe it's every bit as real as this one, or the one we came from originally. Fuck, Gene, there could be _layers_ of worlds that we might never know about."

"Not sure I like the sound of that," frowned Gene.

"Or, if that's not the case, then maybe it's made up of the collective memories of the people from this world," he said, "there are bound to be many people from two thousand and _bollocks_ here. Just because you had never experienced it doesn't mean _they_ haven't."

Gene shook his head a little. It was too detailed for that. He suspected that, as daunting as the idea of a world beyond his was, it was the best explanation.

"Thanks, Shoebury," he said, "I knew yer sci-fi fetish wouldn't let me down." He pulled a face. "Almost missed you."

Simon frowned.

"I'll almost thank you for that," he said.

Gene sighed and blinked tiredly.

"So what's with all the fapping?" he asked.

Simon turned bright red from the roots of his hair, all the way down his face.

"I was _not_ 'fapping'!" he cried, "how _dare_ you?"

"I mean in two thousand and bollocks," Gene told him.

"What I did in two thousand and bollocks is my own business!" Simon told him as he reeled in horror. "Exactly what were you watching in this coma of yours?"

"Relax Shoebury, I'm talking about the unnamed masses on that world wide web of doom," he said, Oh forget it."

Simon narrowed his eyes.

"What exactly were you fapping to?" he demanded.

_"I_ wasn't doing the fapping!" cried Gene, "and I wish I'd never mentioned it now!"

"Well you're not the only one!" cried Simon as a slightly battered and blood-smeared Robin staggered into the room.

"Call off your bloody crocodile!" he begged before anyone could say anything.

Simon hesitated.

"Rob, are you… aright?" he asked

"No I'm, not!" cried Robin, "look what your stupid toy's done! I'm lucky I still have all my fingers. Those things are defective! I'm calling trading standards!"

"Where is it now?" Simon asked.

"Heading to the operating theatre, last I saw," cried Robin.

"And you left it on its _own?"_ Simon cried in a panic as he scrambled to his feet, "Shit –"

He left the room in something of a hurry, leaving a battered Robin to look guiltily at Gene.

"Sorry, guv," he said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to call a halt to your conversation."

"We'd finished anyway," Gene told him, still mulling over Simon's words. He felt a dreadfully dark sensation come over him as he recalled the last time he'd seen Robin, at the receiving end of his stray bullet, and before that, in pieces by Kim's hospital bed. "While you're here, Batman," he began.

"Oh _god_, what have I done?"

"Why does everyone think I'm going to give them a bloody bollocking?" cried Gene.

"Because that's what you usually do!" cried Robin.

Gene hesitated. That was true.

"Not this time," he said, he looked at Robin a little uncomfortably. "Owe you a bit of an apology," he said.

"Since when did the _Gene Genie_ apologise for something?" frowned Robin.

Gene ignored that.

"Got to admit when you fell out the jewellery shop few months back and told me you'd shacked up with stringer I thought you were giving me a big bunch of bollocks."

"You thought I was _lying?"_ frowned Robin.

"Thought you were getting the April fools in a bit early," said Gene. He hesitated as he recalled seeing Robin sitting by her bed, head in hands, "made a wrong call on that one."

"Oh," Robin wasn't sure what to say.

"Sorry she's not with you," Gene said in a voice that was surprisingly quiet and sad.

Robin didn't know how to respond. He gave a very weak smile and turned around.

"I'd better make sure Simon's still alive," he said, "that crocodile's got a taste for blood now."

As he walked to the door he managed to crash straight into Alex whose coffee instantly graced her top once again.

_"Three times_ now!" she cried, "I might as well tie-dye this thing in a vat of coffee!"

"Caffeinated cleavage," Gene said with some approval, "I can think of worse things."

"Definitely my queue to leave," Robin gagged as he made a speedy exit.

Alex turned to Gene and smiled but it slowly faltered. Gene frowned curiously at her expression.

"That's not the face of a happy Drake," he commented.

Alex's eyes dropped. The whisper of a smile fade.

"No, it' not," she said quietly.

"Do you want to tell me why or do we have to play twenty questions?" Gene asked.

Alex let out her breath in a sigh.

"I could give you _fifty_ questions and I still don't think you'd get it," she said. Finally her eyes rose back to his level and she looked at him seriously. "Gene, there's something I need to tell you. Something that happened when I was back in the real world. Something I should have told you, but I," she paused as she looked at his expression, "I didn't know how."

Gene hesitated. He had a 'something' like that too.

"Spit it out then, Lady B," he prompted, "before someone else tries to take a chunk out me skull."

Alex took a deep breath and tried to calm her twitching nerves. The truth wasn't the only thing about to come out.


	35. Chapter 34: Hot Faces and Warm Nights

_**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Rant; thank you for giving me the guts to write the story the way I wanted instead of staying trapped by how I felt I was supposed to. Your awesomeness knows no bounds :) x**_

_**~xXx~**_

**Chapter 34**

Alex couldn't look Gene in the eye.

"Something happened when I was back in the real world," her voice was quiet and slow, as though she was trying to detach herself from her words, "I was always going to tell you, Gene. Please don't think that I meant to keep his from you because that was never my intention."

"It would help if you'd tell me what the big secret was. I take it you haven't won the _Reader's Digest_ star prize?" Gene asked but his heart wasn't even in his sarcasm.

"I'm trying to be serious, Gene," Alex said quietly.

"I know that," Gene said stiffly, "why do you think I'm making uncomfortable jokes?"

"Stop it, Gene, this is hard enough," Alex's expression grew darker.

Gene stared at her, unsure what she could possibly have done on the other side of the line that seemed to warrent such a reaction.

"Spit it out then Bolly," he said tensely. He was starting to feel extremely worried by her tone.

He watched as she stared at her hands, clutching her coffee cup.

"I'd been back there already for a long time," she said quietly, "almost three months had passed by since I woke up and I was missing you so much. It was painful to even _think_ about you. I'd fought so hard to get back to you and everything I'd done had gone wrong. I was so desperate to get home, Gene, I was missing you and so, so lonely. And even though I tried to keep strong, I'd started to feel like I was never going to see you again. I thought I'd lost you forever and I was stuck in two thousand and twelve without you."

Gene wished for all the world that he wasn't stuck in a hospital bed with a drip in his hand and a bandage that made him look like Mr. Bump.

"Can we skip to the end before I start going crazy and gnawing on me drip tube?" he said. He wasn't sure where this was leading but the _long-long_ version was starting to make him apprehensive.

Alex nodded slowly. She knew drawing it out wasn't helping matters. She was stalling, more or less. Postponing the moment. Delaying the inevitable.

"Robin was in hospital," she said quietly, "and it had been a while. The news wasn't very positive."

Gene waited for her to continue but she seemed to have hit a rut of words. She couldn't carry on. When a few moments had passed he said,

"This had better not be leading to some all-night X-Files quote-a-thon in his memory."

"Please, Gene, this isn't easy!" Alex drew in her breath, her expression becoming clearly overwrought and emotional, "I'm _trying_ to tell you. Don't make it worse."

"Then get some words moving in this direction," Gene was starting to feel frustrated and wanted to get this over with but Alex's words would have to come at their own pace.

"Robin had been unconscious for a while, and Kim assumed… well it was _easy_ to assume... that he wasn't coming back." She paused again, "she was convinced he'd chosen to stay with Simon. She was feeling so _lost_, Gene, she'd only recently found out she was expecting, and she thought Robin had chosen Simon over her and that she was facing the future alone. And she was feeling _so_ insecure."

"Surely those metal rivets are enough to hold her together," Gene said thinly.

Alex ignored that.

"She was lost and insecure, and I was lonely and thought I'd never see you again," Alex's voice shook as she woke quietly, the words sticking on her throat. She finally raised her gaze to catch his eye. "It just… _happened."_

The silence that followed seemed to last for eons. Alex could hear a buzzing in her ears from how pure the silence felt. She stared at Gene, willing him to speak up. Surely he would respond; he'd yell or scream or say something completely inappropriate. The silence was unexpected. It felt like an ice age came and went before Gene finally said;

"Any chance that you are going to clarify exactly _what_ happened, Drake?"

Alex bit ferociously on her lip. Her eyes flickered between Gene's and her hands, still clasping her cup.

"We," she whisperd, "Kim, and I," the words ceased again. She swallowed and dropped her head, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks. "I was… I was highly hormonal… I was almost six months by then, and I hadn't…" she flinched as she hard herself trying to justify what she'd done. There was no justification. Except for that, she'd wanted to.

"Stringer," Gene said bluntly.

Alex couldn't look at him.

"It was a very strange situation, Gene," she whispered, "I was very lost and isolated out there. I didn't belong there. Staying with Kim and with Robin, I felt as though I belonged at least. When you're on the other side, you need people who understand, and after Robin was shot we… Kim and I… it felt like it was the two of us against the world and we… I suppose, we grew even closer."

Gene's eyes were fixed upon her even though she couldn't look back at him.

"So you were, what?" he straightened his jaw, eyes boring into her, "going for a re-enactment of the Christmas dare, were you?"

Alex felt her eyes closing and a second wave of heat washed over the skin of her face.

"In a way," she whispered.

"You locked lips with Metal Mickey?" Gene's voice was edgy. She didn't look at him but she could picture his expression.

"Yes," she said quietly, "yes, and no."

Gene stared on.

"You locked more than lips?" Alex stayed still and silent like a child caught stealing someone's lunch money in the playground. Her silence overflowed with guilt and Gene felt his pulse quickening. There was a note of anger in his voice as he asked, "exactly how far into the _Isle of Lesbos_ did you _travel_, Alex?"

_"Gene!"_ Alex cried, finally looking up.

"At least you're looking at me face now," Gene said crossly, "you're telling me instead of yer coffee cup."

"I'm sorry," she whispered as her eyes closed and she wished that she could wipe away the anger on his face, "it's _hard_ being alone in a place you don't belong any more, being away from someone you love. I was lonely, and so was Kim, we both needed someone, just for one night –"

"Can't be very comforting sleeping next to a bag of rivets," said Gene.

"Stop that," Alex told him crossly.

"Me fiancé's just told me she's been jumping ship!" cried Gene, "I'm not going to ask you if you enjoyed yer stay and to mark her performance out of ten!"

"It was _one night_ –"

"One night too many," Gene found himself breathing so hard he was almost panting.

"I didn't think I would ever get back," Alex tried to explain, "we both thought we were alone in the world. I'd been waking up alone every morning for weeks and months and I craved warmth and needed someone to hold me and make me feel safe, just like you do. And _she_ needed someone to help her feel better about herself when she was hitting her lowest point. It's not as though we were sneaking around behind your back, she thought Robin had left her behind for good and I couldn't see a way clear to getting home. We really needed each other that night, Gene. I'm sorry." She paused and breathed hard to catch her breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I should have told you when I first came back." She looked him in the eye. "But I can't say I'm sorry that it happened because I'm not. I didn't regret it the morning after and I don't regret it now. I only regret that it's hurt you."

Gene closed his eyes for a moment, then looked back at her.

"This is the point," he began, "where I would usually storm the hell out and slam the door in rage. Since I can't move from this bed you'll have to do the walking out part." He turned his had away a little. "You don't have to do the slamming the door part,"

"I think we should talk about this," Alex said nervously.

"I don't. Out." Gene said bluntly.

Alex stared at him, ready to protest, but the she shook her head. It wasn't the time.

"Goodbye then, Gene," she whispered. She got to her feet and turned around, walking swiftly from the room without looking back in case she changed her mind, and in case he saw her cry.

~xXx~

The quiet, dark corner of the canteen hid her face away as she cried silent tears. She knew that, under normal circumstances, what she's done would have been straightforward cheating. It would have been wrong, very wrong, and something she would never have done to Gene in a lifetime. But it wasn't '_like that'_. It wasn't some cheap or sordid one-night stand; it was something gentle and beautiful that came from the close bond between two friends who were going through something so strange and heart-breaking that they drew from each other the warmth and the strength they needed to help them survive the tough times.

She had started to think she would never be reunited with him. She'd started to think that the world had closed its doors to her. As much as she carried on fighting she thought she had _lost_ the fight. She craved love and warmth, she needed someone to tell her everything was going to be alright. And Kim had been feeling the same way.

Constantly feeling as though she still lived in the shadow of Simon, Kim truly thought that Robin had chosen him over her. The more days went by, the more it seemed to be the truth. She hadn't known she was pregnant until after Robin had been shot and had never been able to tell him. Her late discovery coupled with her deep-rooted body-image issues had led her to feel ashamed of the changes her body was going through instead of embracing them.

Alex felt a tear fall from her eye as she remembered that night; both feeling desolate and in need of love, affection and intimacy; Alex's words attempting to soothe Kim's fears and Kim doing all she could to help Alex to feel less alone as the likelihood of ever getting home began to fade. Between a crush that Kim had kept hidden for years and a curiosity that Alex had never been bold enough to explore, the close friendship they had built over the last few, intense months had easily transferred into something closer. Both alone, lost, hormonal and starved of affection, things had just happened naturally. It wasn't forced, it wasn't sordid; it was pure and tender and beautiful and when they awoke in the morning neither regretted it but they both knew that it was one night, to never be repeated.

She should have told Gene as soon as she came home. The fact that she didn't would twist the knife of guilt in her guts for an eternity. But she could never say that she regretted it because it wouldn't be true. That one night was an oasis in the middle of the darkest months of her life. For that, she would forever be grateful to Kim.

~xXx~

Gene barely looked up as he heard a knock at the door.

"What is it, Shoebury?" he asked.

"I just…" Simon paused as he saw Gene's expression, "what's happened? Don't tell me someone's scratched your car?"

"Not in the mood Shoebury," Gene sighed, rubbing his face crossly.

"What _is_ it then?" Simon asked. When Gene didn't reply he became increasingly concerned. "Shit, Gene, what is it?"

Gene seemed to indulge in facial gymnastics for some time until he managed to decide upon an expression. It was slightly angry, mostly guilty, and he finally looked Simon in the eye.

"Will you get me a dictionary, Shoebury?"

"What? Why?" Simon asked, confused.

"I want to look up 'hypocrite' and see if they've got me picture in there yet."

"What are you talking about?" frowned Simon, "is it time for your pills…?"

"Shut up, Simon," Gene closed his eyes, tilted his had right back and sighed as loudly as humanly possible.

"Come on, you might as well tell me what you're talking about, before I start knocking my head against the wall."

Gene grunted.

"Somehow I don't think you're a very appropriate choice of confidante," He said.

"Did you _need_ a dictionary or just swallow one?" Simon demanded, "_Confidante?_" he frowned, "and why wouldn't I be a good one?" he pouted a little.

"Last thing I need is the infidelity police on me back," Gene mumbled.

Simon eyed him warily.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked, "is this anything to do with my mother?"

"…Is the _other_ reason you're not a very appropriate choice of confidante," Gene muttered.

"Gene, spit it out!" Simon cried, "is _that_ what this is all about? What exactly happed in your…. _coma stuff?_ Oh god, you went and shagged my mother again, didn't you?" Simon started walking in speedy circles in horror.

"Jesus, Shoebury, you love to think the worst, don't you?" Gene cried.

"Then what happened?"

Gene closed his eyes and put his hand to his head, forgetting the bandage was there and wondering why his skin felt strange for a second. He sighed and finally looked at Simon.

"This goes no further," he said threateningly.

"It's a bit hard to spill your secrets around when you're talking in riddles," Simon said. He finally sank into the chair by gene's bed and folded his arms. "Come on, just tell me. You obviously want to."

"You'll sit and pass judgement," Gene said warily.

"No judging," said Simon, "promise."

Gene hesitated warily, but eventually gave a sigh and began to explain.

"Just discovered something," he said, "Bols… there's ben something she wasn't telling me. Something that happened on the other side, in two thousand and bollocks. Before she got back."

Simon looked at him cluelessly.

"What?" he asked, "I'm not following."

"Metal Mickey," Gene began."

"Kim?"

"Seems she's _turning_ people left, right and centre," Gene said grimly.

"What?" Simon began to jibber comments of confusion but as he absorbed the look on Gene's face the truth slowly dawned upon him. "What? No, that's not very likely, is it?"

"Simon, she sat right where you are now and confessed to _cleaning Stringer's carpet!"_ Gene cried.

"Alex?" Simon frowned, "and _Kim?"_

"Jesus, Shoebury, keep up," if Gene's head wasn't already throbbing he'd have started hitting it against the wall by that point .

"I'm sorry, this has just come as a bit of a shook," Simon shook his head, "I didn't think Alex would… I mean…" he paused as he thought back to Kim's time in the nineties; to a couple of comments and moments that made him wonder if she may have been harbouring a crush on Alex but Kim's sharp tongue had always cut down the questioning before it even began. He looked back at Gene, wide eyed. "Does _Robin_ know?"

"I'm not an almanac, Simon, I don't have all the details at me disposal, I've only just discovered me fiancé's been taking an interest in _metalwork_!"

"Oh god, Kim's cheated on Robin and he doesn't _know_ –" Simon leapt to his feet, his expression torn between horror that Kim had done such a thing behind his back and the sneaky notion that he might be able to steal Robin back if he learned one or two little facts.

"Settle, Simon," Gene told him crossly, "whether he knows or not, _you're_ saying _nothing."_

"Oh Gene you can't be serious –"

"You already gave me yer word this wasn't going any further," Gene reminded him.

"Yeah, well that was _before –"_

"_Simon!"_

Gene's tone stopped Simon for a second. He slowed down, looked at Gene guiltily and mumbled an apology. His mind went back to something Keats had said. _Shit_, he really _had_ seen things from the other side. What that meant about the word and Keats's role within it, Simon didn't even want to contemplate. He hesitated and looked at Gene.

"Wait a second," he frowned, "you said you were a hypocrite."

"I told you to look it _up_," Gene tried to cover.

"No, you meant it," Simon frowned, "is this still about my mum?" he paused, "Shit, it's not, is it? You've cheated again."

"Calm down, Infidelity Police, put down yer weapon, I've got me hands up. Bugger this, I wish I'd never opened me big flapping gob of doom now."

"Gene, what did you do?" Simon accused.

Gene hesitated. He looked at Simon cautiously.

"You're me resident expert on parallel universes, alternative version wotsits and multiple dimension crap, right?" he said.

Simon nodded.

"_Apparently_," he sighed, "Why?"

Gene hesitated again.

"Is it still cheating when you've bonked yer fiancée's past self from another sodding world?"

Simon stared at Gene. The look on his face was priceless; confusion, guilt and, also, the desperation to brag just for a second about his unusual conquest, even though Simon would rather have cemented his ears up permanently than heard one word about Gene's alleged prowess.

"You… cheated on Alex… with _herself?"_ his tone grew high and squeaky as he tried to process the information.

Gene wished he had his flask, or failing that some of Simon's blue and white pills would have sufficed.

"That's about the size of it," he said.

Simon put his head in his hands.

"Your resident expert on parallel universes, alternative version wotsits and multiple dimension crap wishes to resign," he groaned.


	36. Chapter 35: Into the Truth

**Chapter 35**

"I'm sorry, Gene, you're on your own this time," Simon shook his head. Held spent ten minutes listening to Gene give a wholly over-descriptive and not-very-Shoebury-friendly description of his encounter in his coma world with 2007 Alex. Simon didn't know what to tell him. For one thing he was annoyed that Gene had cheated on someone again, no matter who it was with.

"Didn't you learn your lesson the last time?" he'd cried accusingly.

"I did learn one lesson." Gene told him, "used a bloody rubber johnny this time. You were the best advert for contraception I've ever seen."

"_Thanks a fucking bunch!" _Simon had cried, offended in more ways than he could express.

But for another thing he really couldn't wrap his head around what Gene had done. He had never experienced whatever Gene had been through; a world beyond his own. He supposed this was what it had been like for Robin trying to understand the tangibility or otherwise of the place after he'd returned from 1985. He'd never really been on the other side of it before.

He didn't know how to try to balance out Alex 2007 with Alex 1997, and he couldn't be certain that Gene hadn't opened a whole can of paradoxes, or he would have done if paradoxes even came in cans.

"But," he said to Gene eventually, "the Alex you took to bed in two thousand and seven isn't the one wearing your ring on her finger."

Gene nodded slowly. That was true. She wasn't.

"Need to get me head straight on this one," he said, "make yourself scarce."

"Make myself _scarce?"_ cried Simon, "who am I, some annoying flatmate you want to get rid of for the night?"

"Wasn't too far from the truth not so long ago," Gene reminded him.

Eventually, shaking his head, Simon left and Gene was once again alone to try to take on board what both he and Alex had done.

~xXx~

Alex had been walking for what felt like hours. In reality it had been twenty minutes, if that, but her mind had covered so many topics that it felt like so much more time had passed. She wasn't even in the best state for this. She'd had almost no sleep except for a few moments in Gene's room, she'd had nothing to eat since the previous lunchtime and she'd drunk nothing but coffee – and most of _that_ she was now wearing down her top.

She felt weak and exhausted physically but that was nothing compared to the mental and emotional exhaustion she was feeling. She knew she was wrong not to tell Gene sooner and she had always expected him to feel hurt but the circumstances were highly unusual and she had needed it _so_ much. She felt guilty that she didn't regret it. More guilty about _that_ than she felt about it happening in the first place.

She pulled her jacket around her as she walked back to the hospital, more for security than anything. She didn't really feel cold, even though it wasn't the warmest of days. Her body felt numb to the elements. Numb to most everything. She didn't even feel the hunger gnawing inside her, if it wasn't for the growling of her stomach she wouldn't have even realised it had been so long since she had last consumed solid food. She felt so angry with herself for getting into the situation in the first place. If she'd only told him sooner then Keats would have had nothing over her and they could have worked through it in their own time. Being forced to admit the truth to a weakened Gene who had just awoken and was suffering the effects of a severe head injury was the very worst way she could imagine the truth to come out.

Her head drooped sadly as she returned to the hospital and made her way through the building. She knew that, whatever Gene had said, thy needed to talk. She couldn't bear Gene being so angry with her. She'd feared the very worst about his condition, thought she was about to lose him – she wasn't going to lose him through _this_ either.

She arrived at the doorway to his room and immediately could see a difference in his expression. She expected more anger facing her; instead he looked slightly sheepish, almost guilty himself. She knocked unnecessarily and took a step inside.

"Is it safe to come back now?" she asked.

Gene blinked.

"I'm not going to throw the blood pressure machine at you, Bolly," he said, a little awkwardly.

Alex walked slowly towards him, fearing with every step that he was about to unleash fury on her but he seemed surprisingly quiet and subdued.

"Alright," she said quietly with a little false bravado, "let's hear them."

Gene stared at her.

"Hear what?"

"Al the new insults you've created for Kim while I've been gone," Alex told him, "Come on, you must have put something together."

"Why should I bother?" Gene asked, "it was you and _Stringer_ putting things together, apparently."

"See, I _knew_ it –" Alex thought it felt a little like banter but she couldn't be sure. Was this just from anger? She walked cautiously to his side and sat by the bed. "Talk to me?" she said quietly, "Please? I'm torturing myself enough, I don't need you to do it too." When he didn't respond she started to grow frustrated. "Come on, Gene, at least tell me what's on your mind."

"What's on my _mind?"_ Gene repeated with a harsh tone, "what's on my _mind_ is that you must have had the taste of metal in yer mouth for three weeks after that. You must have gone through a bottle of mouthwash in a day."

Alex tried to force a smile but it didn't come. Gene was clearly still angry and she really didn't have the stomach for hearing insults directed at Kim.

"A _proper_ conversation?" she asked.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with the information with which you have furnished me, Drakey," Gene told her.

"What do you mean?"

"Anyone else... You could have had yer pick of the female population of Fenchurch East... Shaz, Susannah, Marci... even the woman with the fat arse and a lifetime's supply of sprouts... but you have to bust the bedsprings with bloody Metal Mickey, don't you?"

"What -?"

"How am I supposed to use _that_ on a dark and lonely night?"

"Gene! I'd expected you to -"

"Bloody Stringer? Was there even enough of her body left that wasn't galvanized?"

"Gene!"

"I can't _fap_ to that."

"_Fap?_ Gene where did you even _learn_ that word?"

"Even Batman wears more eyeliner than she does."

Alex stare at Gene, open-mouthed and wide eyed.

"_Gene!"_ she cried, "I thought half an hour ago you were furious at me for…" she swallowed, not quite able to admit to what she'd done, "now I find out you're only pissed off that I didn't…" she swallowed again, "with someone you find more _aesthetically pleasing?"_ she frowned, "and, for some worrying reason, saw fit to include _Robin_ in that list."

"Make up your mind, Alex," Gene said crossly, "you want me _not_ to be pissed off with you for drinking from the furry cup, _then_ you _want_ me to? "

"I don't want to feel like a segment in _Reader's Wives!"_ cried Alex, "I just wanted you to… maybe… try to understand what it was like for me."

As soon as Alex said those words Gene froze, a sense of guilt stabbing him inside. Like Alex, he'd always known that he needed to confess. But _unlike_ Alex his confession was coming all too soon.

"I do," his voice was low and Alex wasn't sure she'd heard him right.

"What did you say?"

Gene cleared his throat.

"I said I _do,"_ Gene repeated, "understand."

At first Alex thought he simply meant he was trying to see why events had taken the turn they did between her and Kim but as she watched his eyes shifted guiltily and she could see there was more to it.

"You…" she paused and cleared her throat, "you seem to want to tell me something." She waited for him to respond but all he did was to look increasingly guilty. "Gene, I _know_ you. There's something there." She paused and looked at him sincerely. "Just tell me."

Gene stared at her, wishing that he was wearing something other than a smock and a bandage. It diluted his authority somewhat. He pursed his lips for a moment before he said,

"Stand up."

Alex frowned, completely confused what good that would do.

"Gene, I'm not –"

"Just do it," he told her.

Alex wasn't happy about being ordered around but got to her feet.

"Now what?" she asked.

Gene beckoned her with his finger.

"Come here."

Feeling a little wary Alex took a step forward, unsure where this was leading. To her surprise Gene reached out and slowly peeled up the bottom of her shirt.

"What –" she began but stopped as his finger traced the tiny tattoo on her stomach. She swallowed as she felt goosebumps appear on her arms and she looked down to his fingers just as he tried to catch her eye.

"Your bit of skirt did a nice job with this," Gene told her and she drew back with a look of distaste on her face.

"Gene, enough insults," she told him, but that wasn't Gene's point.

"Didn't understand why you wanted to remember yer scar," he told her, "worst day of me bleeding life, seeing you fall with a bullet from my gun lodged in yer guts."

Alex looked at him seriously.

"It was a reminder. It felt like having you with me all the time," she said quietly.

Gene dropped the fabric and looked back at her.

"Where did you go, Drake?" he asked.

Alex's expression became confused and fraught.

"When?"

"You were out cold for three months," Gene reminded her, "said you 'ad a dream. Thought you were home." He noticed the look on her face falling as she sank back into her chair. "You never told me more than that."

"There's not much to tell," Alex gave a weak smile that was wholly false, "I woke up and I thought I was home. There were doctors, and Molly, but," she flinched, "you were calling me back. Right there, all around me. Yelling for me. Calling my name." she looked him in the eye, "and you never stopped calling."

Gene breathed slowly. He wished this wasn't so hard.

"Sounds like you and Metal Mickey shared more than a bed," he told her.

"Oh, just _stop,"_ she hissed crossly before his words sank in, "What… what do you mean?"

Gene looked at her seriously.

Only heard this from a friend of a friend," he said, "I don't know much. When Jimbo sank a bullet into her neck she was out cold. Thought she was home, too. Turns out she was wrong."

Alex bit her lip.

"Are you saying that's what happened to you?" she asked quietly. Gene didn't respond but his silence confirmed it. "But Gene, you already know you're not alive out there. How could you have thought you'd gone home?"

"I didn't," said Gene, "I knew I _wasn't_. Thought I was going mad.. Or in a coma." He paused, "Or forward in time."

"Forward?" Alex frowned, "you didn't go back to the year you were killed?"

"Bols, I outlived _you,"_ he said, "two thousand and twelve. April. Biggest bloody April fool I've ever seen, I'll tell you that. I thought me brain had been fried. I was in someone else's life and didn't know how to get out." He shook his head. "Finally I knew what it was like. Might have to ease up with the filing cabinet for a while."

"Shit, Gene," Alex leaned forward, "this is more serious than I realised."

"I went through a big steaming pile of dung out there," Gene told her, "You wouldn't believe half of it."

Alex leaned in closer. Suddenly everything else was forgotten.

"Try me," she said quietly.

Gene pulled in his breath.

"I was there to learn a lesson," he told her, "about me world. Truth is, I didn't really believe in it any more. _That_ wasn't helping. Keats starts flipping out and I start falling apart. Not really compatible," he sighed, "so I was shown the error of me ways."

"This sounds suspiciously like _three ghosts_ territory," said Alex.

"Wrong story," said Gene, "I got a scarecrow, a tin man and a cowardly lion though."

Alex started to eye up the alert button.

"Maybe it's time for more pills," she said.

"Will people _stop_ trying to pump medicine down me neck?" cried Gene. He gave another sigh. "I started in two thousand and twelve. Saw the news. The bloodbath. Stringer was in a bed down the hall, fighting for her life. Took me too long to realise what was about to take place and arrived at Batman's door in time to see your friend Mister Layton with gun cocked, ready to fire. Grabbed the gun off the bastard but," he flinched, "things went wrong. I fired it. Shot him."

"Layton?"

"Robin."

Alex swallowed, almost more shocked at Gene using Robin's name than the fact he'd shot him.

"But… that's not possible," she said, "Robin told us… he said Layton –"

"Yes, he did," said Gene, "Stumped me as much as you. Knew I wasn't there the first time… _couldn't_ have been… still crapping myself though so I legged it, right into the path of a car that launched me into space." He slapped his fist into his palm, "_bang_ – out for the count again. Woke up back in hospital with another name and another life. Took flight and felled the tree that sent Shoebury on a permanent transfer. The list went on, Lady B, one after another. Stringer, Tyler – I know how it sounds, but before you try to call for more blue and white pills remember what it was like for _you_ when you opened yer eyes to the eighties."

Alex stared at him. She had to admit that she'd thought for a moment that Gene was going crazy but she knew what he said was true. She had gone through the same thing on her arrival. Those entering their world couldn't prove whether it was real or not. Gene's experience was no different.

"Go on," she whispered.

"I needed help, Bols," Gene said grimly, "only one person I could trust."

Alex stared at him?"

"Who?" she asked. He stared back. It took a moment for her to realise. _"Me?"_

"Two thousand and six," he said, a little distantly, "I'd just sent Sam Tyler off to the land o' nod in me car. Drove all the way down to find you."

"What… did I say?" Alex realised that was one of the more surreal questions she'd ever asked.

As Gene prepared to answer he was surprised by the wealth of emotion the memory stirred up. He looked her right in the eye and said,

"I'll give you this, Bols. You're a bloody good psychiatrist."

"Psy-"

"I know, I know, I'm taking the piss," Gene closed his eyes. "Couldn't tell her the truth. Would have had me locked away faster than Rick Astley rolls down a hill. But even telling her the bare bones…" he paused, "telling _you_… the bare bones… " he realised he had no idea whether he should be describing Alex 2006/7 as '_her'_ or '_you'_. If only his resident expert on parallel universes, alternative version wotsits and

multiple dimension crap hadn't resigned. "Cut right to the root of it. My guilt. I'd started blaming meself for everything. Went to a world that put me literally in that place. Responsible for bringing the to this world. Couldn't wake up and get home until I stopped blaming myself and started seeing the bloody up-side of me world again."

Alex felt as though she'd been gripped by a storyteller. She stared him.

"And how _did_ you get home?" she asked.

Gene looked away. It was geting harder to talk about it now.

"Car sent me to sleep again. Woke up a year later, Watched Sammy-boy plunge to his doom. To the doom of staring at _my_ ugly mug for the next seven years." He paused. "Guess who turned up to investigate his splat zone?"

Alex began to shrug, wondering how he expected her to know when suddenly a memory clicked into place and her eyes rapidly widened.

_"I_ did," she whispered, "I went.. I…" she stared at Gene, "You saw me again?"

Gene looked down.

"I did," he said.

Alex stared on. There was something in his expression that she hadn't seen before. It made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She hesitated, biting on her lip.

"You…" she flinched, "you did more than just _see_ me again," she whispered, "didn't you?" She watched him give one solitary, guilty nod. It churned her up inside and sent acid bubbling to her throat. "Oh my god, Gene, you didn't…" her face fell as she stared at him, "_please_ tell me you didn't."

He changed a glance in her direction. The look on her face left a crack down his heart.

"It was _you_, Bolly," his voice was strained.

"But it _wasn't_ me," Alex said quietly, "_I'm_ me . that was some other Alex. Someone who'd never been here, Never been through what I've been through. " she paused, "someone who doesn't know you inside and out." She slowly got to her feet and turned around. Her heart was pounding and her mouth grew dry. She couldn't quite bring herself to look at Gene. She couldn't understand all of what he'd told her but what she _did_ know was that her heart was sinking fast.

"I missed you," Gene said gruffly.

Alex flinched

"That didn't seem to be a valid argument for me so why should I let _you_ use it?" she said quietly.

"Big difference, Bollinger Knickers," Gene pointed out, "I missed you and walked into _another_ you. You can forgive me for getting confused. Can't pretend you jumped into bed with Meal Mickey and said; '_Ooh, Guv, you didn't have this pierced last me I saw you'_." Alex just stayed standing, staring at the ground as Gene continued, "Come on, Bols. Let's face it. We did the same thing. We _both_ did the _same_ thing. Place we didn't know. Lonely and scared. Looked to the first familiar face for some support."

"One of us found someone more familiar than the other," Alex said quietly.

"Trying to bring the peace back, here," Gene said accusingly, "stop shitting on my olive branch like a dove with a case of the squits."

Alex turned around. She looked back at him.

"That wasn't my intention," she said quietly.

A long and difficult silence followed and neither knew how to break it. It was Gene who finally said,

"If you want to scream me ears to shreds then do it, but I'm not in the mood for the silent treatment."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment," Alex said quietly, "I'm thinking."

"About what? The next robot you're going to romance? Win them over with a can of oil and a set screwdrivers?"

Alex ignored him.

"I was thinking about her," she whispered, "the other me."

She finally looked Gene in the eye again.

"What part of her exactly were you thinking about?" he asked stiffly.

Alex looked away.

"I was thinking," she whispered," of how much I envy her."

Gene hesitated. There was a strange look on Alex's face.

"It was one time, Bolly,." He said.

"I don't mean that," Alex whispered. She looked at him again and swallowed a little nervously. "She's already met you. She already knows. She understands. One day she's going to wake up in nineteen eighty one, see you pull up in the mighty Quattro and feel safer than she's ever felt in her life. She's not going to wake in the eighties feeling scared and alone. She's going to know you, not Sam-Tyler-pre-splat's version of you. Not something she's read in his notes and listened to on his tapes. She's going to know _you_."

Gene hesitated.

"Not quite the same 'me' though, is it?" he said, "you've had sixteen years to work yer magic on me. I've changed. Had to. She's going to meet the me that you were quick to sink yer right hook into."

A touch of a smile flickered across Alex's lips.

"But it's still you," she whispered, "and she'll understand. And she'll know who, one day, you will become."

She felt her head droop a little as she recalled her daunting first days in Gene's world and all she'd gone through to adjust. She wished she could have allowed herself to be absorbed by the world sooner. She had fought it for so long. She regretted that now. The look on her face moved Gene and no matter what they had been through that day he held out his hand and said

"Come here, Bols." She glanced at him, surprised to see his expression had softened. With a little hesitation she moved towards him and sat down by his bed again, taking his hand. He looked at her seriously, his eyes fixed upon hers. "I know you, Bolly. I know me. We can either yell the crap out of each other for days about this and waste more time. Or we can chalk this one up to parallel arsehole reality bollocks and move on."

Alex's brow furrowed as she looked at his expression.

"That's a bit of a mature attitude for you," she said.

"Yeah, well," he scratched his nose, "I, er, saw a good psychologist while I was away." The slap across the arm was probably deserved, he told himself as his skin stung but there was a hint of a smile on Alex's face now which he reflected. "I _am_ sorry, Alex. My trousers did the talking for me. But it's your own fault for being such big bag of bloody sexual magnetism."

"This is where you make a joke about magnets being attracted to Kim, isn't it?" Alex narrowed her eyes but a hint of a laugh threatened to burst through. They both knew that the matter was far from over and there would be things they'd have to bring into the open and talk about as time moved on. But they also knew that neither could hold a barrel of blame over the other when there were such parallels in their behaviour. They'd both done exactly the same thing – searched for warmth an affection from someone familiar while they were lost and alone in a strange world, trying to fight their way home.

"I need you to be straight with me," Gene told Alex seriously.

"Is that another dig?" she frowned.

Gene rolled his eyes.

"Why do you think every word that leaves me trap is going to be aimed at you and Stringer?" he demanded.

"Because most of them _have_ been," Alex reminded him.

Gene shook his head.

"Not this time," he said, "but I do need to know," He hesiatetd. "Is this… something I need to know about you, Bolly?" he paused, "Metal Mickey… was this a flash in the pan? Or is it something that's always been there?" he saw Alex look down slightly anxiously. "Come on, I've got a bloody _department_ full of rainbows, I've learned me lesson in tolerance. Not going to throw you out on yer arse for it, am I?"

"I don't know," Alex said quietly, "I mean, I don't know about _me_. Not about being thrown out on my backside." She shook hr head slowly. "I suppose, sometimes…" she trailed away.

"Is this where you tell me you've been drooling over Scully in Shoebury's sci-fi magazine collection?" asked Gene.

"Everyone drools over Scully," Alex said with a slight smile, "it's just the way it is." Her smile faded as she looked at him seriously. "I don't know, Gene. I just know that I'm not scared to find out new things about myself any more. And every now and then, in the past…" she looked away. "Maybe Shaz was right when she said we're all a little of both."

"Speak for yerself," Gene mumbled.

"You were the one putting Robin and his eyeliner on the list above Kim," Alex reminded him.

"I was trying to make a _point_."

"That's what worries me…"

Gene shook his head and growled.

"Lady B, when I get out of here we're going to have to have serious words about yer taste in the fairer sex," he said, "there are plenty of examples out there of classy birds who can get caught in the rain without worrying about rust –"

Another clout for his troubles, Gene relaxed visibly to see a little smile and spark come back into Alex. Times had been rough for both of them over the last few months and there were still things they would have to work through, but they both knew they would be alright, because they always were. They _had_ to be – they were supposed to be together no matter what or where or how many worlds and dimensions they had to go through. Gene was once again back in his own world with Alex at his side, and as he grew stronger once again so their bond would do the same.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: So no one came after me with a gun and a barge for this yesterday… which was a surprise… so today I got brave and posted a, uh, missing chapter as a new fic, "Closer Than Close". Obviously femmeslash; if that's not your thing, don't read it. If it is, I hope you'll take a look :)**_


	37. Chapter 36: Justify Yourself

**Chapter 36**

The room was dark. It would have been pitch black had it not been for the glow of the TV showing some late night repeat of something she wasn't even watching. Her eyes were closed and her body still as she lay face-down on the couch, one arm dangling over the edge with her fingers trailing the floor. A pool of liquid soaked the carpet as the half-empty bottle of scotch let its contents spill across the floor, knocked over by her falling hand. A sandwich sat on a plate without a bite taken out of it. Her hair was unwashed, her clothes creased from where she had slept in them two night in a row. These were her weekends now. Without work, she had nothing, In fact, sometimes she went in just to stop herself from laying on the couch, pickling herself from 6pm on Friday until 8 am on Monday.

She was breathing but there was no life or soul left in her any longer.

She might as well be dead.

~xXx~

The images slammed into Robin's mind so hard that they woke him with a jolt and he sat bolt upright, blinking a few times and gasping. Where _was_ he? He took a look around and found himself in his office, at his desk. _Shit_, he must have fallen asleep. He rubbed his throbbing temples. The lack of sleep had caught up with him and he felt sure he'd have slept for hours if the nightmare hadn't awoken him.

Oh _god_, the _nightmare_ –

His heart sank as his head replayed the images he'd dreamed of Kim; the only one left on the other side.

Without Robin she had nothing and no one. She was more than falling apart, she was already a collection of small components that no one could find the way to put together again. The flat smelt of booze and the cupboards were bare. Even when she forced herself to make something to eat she couldn't force herself to actually consume it.

At first Robin cursed himself for having such a terrible nightmare but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling it was more than that. He'd become highly adept at telling when he was simply having a dream or when it was something more sinister; a glimpse into the real world, a taste of the other side. He's experienced them in reverse all the time when he'd been alive; nightmares and snatches of Gene's world, aware that it was calling him. Now he was on the other side those moments should have ceased… and they _had_. He'd seen nothing, not a glimpse, but something was different right there and then.

That was Kim. And it was a window onto the world. He was sure of that.

_"Fuck,"_ he brushed his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes. It devastated him to think that someone so strong was falling apart so horrifically. He'd thought she would be the last person to crumble. He knew he had come close after losing Simon but Kim was so much stronger than he was.

Then again, he supposed, she had lost so much. It wasn't just losing Robin. They'd lost their baby, her friends were all on the other side of the line, she had no one to turn to for support. All she had was her job and on the days when her _job_ wasn't there for her she had nothing.

Why wasn't she tattooing any longer? He wondered if she was unable to. If she was putting that much booze away she probably didn't have a steady enough hand. _Fuck_, how could this _happen_ to her? She was so _strong_ – seeing her that way made him want to scream and beg with the world to take her, to bring her over so he could just hold her and tell her it would be alright.

The door opened and he jumped a little.

_"Shit,"_ he breathed as Simon appeared, "sorry. You startled me."

"Are you alright?" Simon asked.

Robin hesitated.

"That depends on whether you've brought your crocodile," he said.

"I'm serious."

"So am I!"

Simon sighed.

"No, I haven't brought the crocodile," he said.

"Where is it?" Robin asked suspiciously.

"He's in my office, meeting Eddie," said Simon.

"Meting him or eating him?" Robin wasn't sure if he'd heard correctly.

"Rob, I'm serious, are you OK?" Simon changed the subject, "you look pale."

Robin turned around in his chair to face Simon at the door and brushed his hair away from his eyes.

"I'm just tired, Si," he told him, "none of us have had any real sleep."

Simon walked slowly across the room towards him. He knew Robin was tired but there was something more than that, he could tell. He stopped by his side and said,

"Come on, Rob, what's really wrong? You can tell me anything, you know that."

Robin rubbed his temples and gave a sigh. This was one thing he really couldn't tell Simon about.

"Just had a nightmare that's all," he said as he rubbed his temples, "been a rough couple of days,." He wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. Thinking about what he'd seen was hard enough without Simon trying to force a confession out of him. He looked at him and began, "So how's Gene doing?"

"He's… had better days," said Simon, when a thought came to him and his face developed a curious expression. It was somewhat sheepish, a little sly and fairly damn smug to boot. He managed to wrestle it under control and give it a makeover of innocence before he said, "he… had some shocking news actually."

Robin looked at him a little worriedly.

"Is it to do with the injury?" he asked, "has there been permanent damage?"

"It's nothing to do with that," Simon shook his head, "It's Alex…" he paused and bit his lip, "I really shouldn't say."

Robin hesitated. He had never see Simon's face contort in quite such a severe way before.

"What's wrong?" he asked, "is she OK? Has something happened to her?"

"No, no nothing like that." Simon shook his head "It's just…." He looked at Robin, "He said… he didn't want me to tell you…. but you deserve to know the truth… I'd never forgive myself if I didn't..."

He was laying it on a little thick. He knew that. But he'd never expected such an ideal opportunity to arise and he needed to make the most of it.

"Come on, Simon," Robin frowned, "either tell me or don't say a thing. Leaving me hanging like that is no good for anyone."

Simon looked at Robin with sympathy that was partly real and partly fake. He did genuinely feel bad for him. His thoughts on infidelity meant that he felt a great deal of anger about Kim's behaviour and Robin deserved better. But at the same time he couldn't fight the desperate need for that one glimmer of hope, that all was not lost between them.

"It's something that happened before Alex came home" he said, "It's…" he paused and shook his head. "I told him wouldn't say."

Robin was growing weary of this.

"OK," he said with a little shrug and turned back to the papers on his desk that he'd dropped off to sleep over some time previously. He turned around too quickly to catch the scowl on Simon's face. He was aware of him pulling out a chair and siting down beside him though.

"OK, Robin," he said, "I'm going to tell you because I feel you should know. But please don't let Gene know it came from me. Or Alex."

Robin's head was already throbbing. He didn't need the childish behaviour.

"I already said it doesn't matter," Robin told him, "if someone's saying shit about me behind my back I'd rather not know."

"No, they're not," said Simon, "it's… It's Kim."

A horrible, dark feeling sank over Robin's shoulders and sent a chill down his spine.

"Kim?" he whispered with a tremble in his voice. Images of her desolate form came back to him and threatened to choke him up inside. "What about her?"

Simon made a big show of looking down and making his expression as grim as possible.

"Oh god, Rob, I don't know how to tell you this."

Robin felt as though he was being tortured.

"Will you just tell me?" he whispered.

"Gene told me something," Simon said quietly, "Something Alex finally told him. Apparently while she was back in two thousand and twelve she," he paused for dramatic effect, "she slept with Kim."

He turned his head away and waited; waited for the inevitable. Waited for Robin to crumble sobbing into his arms. Waited for the beautiful fallout.

"I know."

Those two words were like a gunshot to the chest for Simon. His head snapped up quickly and a slightly accusing glare turned to Robin.

"You _know?"_

Robin was confused by Simon's response.

"Of course," he said, his brow creasing into a frown, "You think Kim wouldn't have told me? You think she would have just covered it up?"

"Alex only just told _Gene!"_ cried Simon.

"That's their business," Robin said quietly.

"Why would she tell you?"

Robin frowned.

"That's a bit of a strange question," he said, "she wasn't going to keep something like that from me."

Simon stared at him, his calm acceptance firmly against Simon's expected reaction.

"You're not angry?" he cried.

Robin drew back slightly in his chair.

"Well, what's the point when _you_ seem to be angry enough for _both_ of us," he frowned.

"Your _so-called_ girlfriend has _cheated_ on you," Simon cried.

Robin narrowed his eyes a little and shook his head.

"First of all , she's my fiancée, not my girlfriend," Robin corrected, "secondly, you see everything in black and white, Simon. It's not that easy. Especially when it comes to things between worlds. It's far more complicated than two normal people in one plain of reality falling in love. You still see me as cheating on you with Kim, don't you?" he finally called Simon to task over the matter, "even though you've been dead for over a year and told me to move on.

"I already told you –"

"I know. I know. But that's still how you see it." Robin let out his breath and pressed a hand to his aching forehead, "and that was half the problem, Simon. "

Simon stared at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"I knew deep down that was how you'd feel," he said quietly, "so I could never shake that worry. That's why it took me so bloody long to let go."

"Let go?" Simon repeated, "Of what?"

"Of _whom,"_ Robin corrected. "Of you."

Hearing Robin say those words was the most painful moment of Simon's life. Even despite everything, to hear him say he'd let him go was hurtful and caused a huge swell of sadness inside of him.

"_Me,"_ he whispered.

"Kim was certain I was going to choose you over her," Robin told him, "she knew how much history we had. She knew how much we meant to each other. She knew how deeply the bond between us ran. And I…" he paused and flinched, wishing he could turn back the clock and change the way he'd behaved, "I dragged my feet for too long, never really showing her that I had made a commitment. Never letting her see that I'd chosen her over you. I didn't even let _myself_ see that I had chosen her. I felt too guilty. I was cut up over it because, above everything, I didn't want to hurt you."

Simon couldn't look Robin in the eye any longer. The pure, genuine sadness on his face cut Simon like a knife and he began to feel like the most awful soul in the world.

"Rob –" he began but Robin hadn't finished.

"Two weeks before I died Alex asked me what she should tell you when she made it home. She asked me, when it came to it, who I was going to choose; you or Kim. And even though deep down I knew it was Kim I couldn't bring myself to tell her that because I felt so guilty. And I couldn't even admit it to myself. If I couldn't admit it to _myself_ then how do you think I left _Kim_ feeling?" he hung his head. "I never even took off my ring until she gave me an ultimatum. She'd left her whole life for me – her wife, he children, her home. And I couldn't even take your picture off the wall. Of _course_ she was going to think that I was staying when I crossed the line." He looked at Simon and saw silent tears starting to drip slowly down his cheeks as he finally began to see the complications that Robin and Kim had faced.

I'm sorry," he whispered.

Robin swallowed. He stared at his hands as he said quietly,

"Kim thought I was never going back to her and Alex thought she was never coming back here. It was a shock when she told me and I felt…" he swallowed, "I was upset… and angry… but with _myself_, for never reassuring her that she was my priority." He shook his head. "I'm glad that Alex was there for her when she needed her that night. Maybe _I'm_ the one in the wrong. It's not like I'm condoning cheating. And I know full well your thoughts on that subject. But I can't put what they did under that label, Simon. I just can't."

"But you've never said a thing," Simon said almost accusingly, "You've just treated Alex like… like _normal_…"

"Why wouldn't I?" Robin shook his head, "any bad feelings I _did_ have about it I worked through with Kim when I was back in the real world. It wasn't some sleazy one night stand, it wasn't like they were having a scummy night of drunken pity sex. Kim doesn't make friends easily, Simon, but she and Alex became very close. "

"Apparently so," Simon said bitterly.

"It's not like _you're_ the one they cheated on!" cried Robin, "why are you behaving this way?" he stared at Simon, already knowing the answer. "You saw this as an opportunity to break us up," he said quietly, "didn't you?"

"I just thought," Simon said quietly, "that this would help you see what she's really like."

"How can you say that?" Robin narrowed his eyes and shook his head, "she was your _best friend_ here. She _never_ spoke badly of you. All she ever told me was how you looked after her and helped her to survive."

"She's a cheater, Rob," Simon protested, "she always _has_ been. She had a girlfriend back home when she came here but used to go out snogging everything with tits; she spent four months with Keats –"

"_Against her will,"_ Robin spat angrily.

"_Then_ she entered the love affair of the nineties with Shaz, all the time knowing she had someone to go home to!" cried Simon.

"She couldn't exactly nip home for a night to break up with her girlfriend and make everything nice and fair, _could_ she?" cried Robin.

"And then she cheated on her wife with _you!"_ cried Simon, "and you let her carry on doing it for weeks and weeks! You _encouraged_ her!"

"She had to be certain; she gave _everything_ up for me!" cried Robin.

"Now she's cheated on you," Simon looked him square in the eye, "you see? The pattern will just keep repeating. She can't be faithful; she doesn't have it in her." A sharp pain struck Simon across the side of his face. He clutched his hand to his cheek and looked up in shock, "Did you… just… _slap me?"_ he cried.

Robin stared ahead and swallowed.

"Apparently I did," he said, slightly haughtily.

Simon didn't know what to say. The slap had shocked him into silence and brought an abrupt end to his tirade. In the silence he blurted the first thought that came to mind.

"Gene says slapping is for girls," he snapped.

"You said the same about my eyeliner," Robin said accusingly.

"It _is_ for girls!"

"Have you forgotten the existence of Russell Brand?" cried Robin.

"Stop changing the subject!"

"I'm not! I'm defending myself!" Robin knew he was getting over angry and didn't want to end up doing or saying something he was going to regret. "Just _go_, Simon," he said.

Simon stared at hm. He couldn't quite believe Robin had told him to leave.

"What?" he whispered.

"I don't want to carry on this conversation," Robin said quietly, "you don't know what you're talking about. Just go."

Simon stared at him, scarcely believing what Robin had told him.

"You've changed, Robin," he said bitterly.

Robin felt himself starting to shake but it was with anger rather than regret or sadness.

"So have you," he hissed.

"She's turned you into a cold hearted freak," Simon told him.

That made Robin's anger boil over

"You've become a bitter, twisted, spiteful _prick,"_ he hissed, "and Kim's not changed me. I changed on my own. She just made me feel that I could change without having to justify it. Which," he stood up, "is exactly what you're asking me to do. Get out, Simon."

Simon felt something he'd never experienced before. He felt daunted by Robin. He couldn't get used to the strength that Robin now seemed to possess. Slowly he got to his feet, his hurt eyes meeting Robin's angry stare.

"I can see the family resemblance starting to emerge now," Simon hissed bitterly, "brothers in arms, aren't you?"

"What did you say?" Robin's fury came through gritted teeth but Simon was already halfway to the door. "You think very, _very_ carefully before you _ever_ compare me to him again."

The slamming of the door as Simon left dragged Robin back into his chair as his legs felt weak from a confrontation that had been brewing for weeks but one that he had never wanted to have. He and Simon were two very different people now, changed by time and circumstance. Whether those differences were too great for a friendship to be salvaged was unclear but Robin had to admit sadly it was heading that way. His heart sank as the remains of their bond did the same.

Whatever they'd once had was a thing of the past. The moment he knew that for certain was the greatest moment of sadness Robin had ever felt.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Whoops, I'm sorry, I angsted all over the place here :-/ sorry, I didn't mean to!**_


	38. Chapter 37: Keep Breathing

**Chapter 37**

"Alright Gene, we'll stop for now."

Gene growled angrily as the doctors hoisted his legs back onto the bed.

"You stethoscope wielding nancy-boys never even gave me a chance," he cried, "at least let me put me boots on."

"Gene, you couldn't move them," Alex said quietly, trying to fight back the fears that were leaping into her throat, "you wouldn't have been able to stand.

"Just didn't want to put these prized feet on a floor where the sick of Fenchurch have been leaving their verrucas," Gene mumbled, "if you'd just let me put me boots on we wouldn't have a problem.

"Let's get you settled again, Mister Hunt," a nurse told him gently but her bedside manner was wasted on Gene who huffed and panted and ranted and raved until his legs were back in bed, covered with the blankets and forgotten about. One of his doctors took Alex to one side while Gene busily threw out as many medical-related insults as he could.

"What's the matter?" Alex hissed urgently, "why couldn't he move his legs? He's got feeling in them."

"It's not that simple," the doctor told her gently, "the fact that he has feeling is great, that's a positive, but your fiancé has suffered a very severe head injury. It's going to take some time before he will regain normal motor skills and cognitive function, and some of the processes that his brain is responsible for may take a while to slot back into place. At the moment his brain is having difficulty communicating with his legs."

"But he has _feeling –"_

"We're not talking abut a spinal injury here," the doctor reminded her, "he has full feeling but it's the way that his brain controls the rest of his body that we need to take a look at.

"He can move his arms," Alex said haughtily as though that really made a difference. The doctor looked at her sympathetically.

"It's very early days," he reminded her, "Gene needs time. We'll try him again in a couple of days and see how the movement has improved by then."

Alex swallowed.

"And if it _doesn't_ improve?"

The doctor hesitated.

"I won't lie to you, he said, "that is a possibility. But it's far too early to be thinking that way at the moment. Let's just give him time. We knew this was going to be ambitious but he insisted on trying it."

"That's Gene," Alex said, a little sadly.

It had been two days since Gene had opened his eyes, Over those two days he had managed to insult 24 separate medical personnel, 'accidentally' spill four trays of disgusting food and issue Alex with fifty nine individual insults about herself and Kim, most of which seemed to involve references to Kim rusting in some way and many of them involved discussing why she should not be allowed to get 'wet'. Alex tried to take them in good humour; she knew that they had both done almost the exact same thing in the strange wilderness of worlds that they found themselves lost in. She knew that they would need to talk things through properly sooner or later, away from the hospital, and work through the upsets and the jealousies that popped up from time to time. But for now there were far more important things to worry about.

Gene's progress had been wholly positive at first. He'd been talking as normal, as Alex's headache was quick to confirm, and he seemed to have escaped fairly lightly after his terrible injury but as soon as the doctors attempted to help him to stand it became clear that things were not right. He still had all the feeling in his legs but no control over them. Watching the doctors tying to help him stand was like watching a mother encouraging a baby to take its first steps before it was ready.

"What happens from here?" she asked.

"We'll repeat the exercise in a couple of days," the doctor told her, "depending on how he copes we'll adjust his therapy accordingly.

She felt her heart sinking as the doctor left and she watched Gene clearly struggling to cope with the implications that his first attempt at walking had brought. He was the Manc lion; he was not allowed to show weakness. How could he stand proudly at the helm when he couldn't stand, full stop? If he was reduced to a pen-pushing desk job it would destroy him. What if he could never get back out there? What if he was unable to make a full recovery? She didn't know how he would ever be able to cope with that.

She hadn't been expecting to see Simon arrive in the doorway. Simon had been making himself somewhat scarce for the last day or so. Alex hadn't asked but she supposed that it may have had something to do with the red mark that had appeared on his cheek, followed by some subtle bruising. He'd been very quiet and withdrawn too, and had been noticeably keeping at a distance from Robin. She knew she probably sounded as though she lacked sympathy but all she could think was; 'not _another_ fight?'

He'd been acting very strangely around Alex, too. Alex had guessed correctly that Simon had been made aware of the whole… _mutual infidelity incident_. Simon was torn between his obsessive hatred for infidelity making him want to furnish Alex with a stern warning and keeping hold of a sly glint of an idea that just maybe Alex and Kim might tumble into bed together again at some unspecified point in the future, ending Robin and Kim's relationship for good. Although how Simon was intending for this to happen when they were on opposite sides of the line and many years apart as yet to be confirmed. Even as the resident expert on parallel universes, alternative version wotsits and multiple dimension crap he couldn't figure that one out.

"How's the patient?" Simon asked her, clutching a couple of magazines in one hand and a bag full of treats from Latte Land for Gene in the other.

Alex stepped back to allow the remaining medical professionals to pass by out of the room.

"He's… he's alright," she said quietly, "been trying to stand, but I think they hurried him. He hasn't –" a cry and a crash turned their heads towards Gene who had suddenly crumped into a big heap of limbs on the ground. "_Gene!"_

Alex and Simon ran to his side, ignoring his angry shouts refusing their assistance.

"God, Gene, what happened?" cried Simon.

"Nothing, just fell out of bed," Gene growled, shoving Simon away as he tried to grasp his arm, "I don't need any help."

"Gene, you can't even _stand,"_ Alex said gently which brought a look of shock and horror from Simon.

"Just been sitting on me arse too long," Gene said crossly, "me legs have gone dead."

Simon looked at Alex questioningly and the look in her eyes silenced him before he could ask out loud. She shook her head very slowly and glanced back at Gene with deep sadness in her eyes. He hadn't been sitting on his backside for too long and feeling his legs was _not_ the problem.

As Gene pushed them away again Alex had no choice but to press the emergency button and allow the doctors and nurses to get him back into bed. He wasn't going to allow her or Simon to help him, that was for certain. With a heavy heart she realised that Gene must have been trying to stand again, this time on his own, determined not to let his first attempt get the better of him. He wouldn't give in. he wouldn't even give himself time to recover.

She turned back to Simon and suddenly her concern moved onto someone else.

"Simon?" she frowned as she saw the stricken look on his face, "Simon, are you alright?"

Simon stared at Gene. The sight of him struggling as the doctors forced him back into bed disturbed him greatly but it was more than seeing Gene brought literally to his knees that shook him up.

It was the first time he'd flashed back to it for many, many months. In fact, he'd been free of flashbacks since he became a permanent part of Gene's world but they came back to him now; the falling of the server, the instant of blinding pain, awakening in hospital with Robin by his side, the resulting circus of chaos where a never-ending troop of medical professionals circled around him, prodding and poking him. And then it came, the weeks of difficult, traumatic therapy, learning to talk again, to eat again, to stand and to walk again. And all of _that_ was on top of trying to deal with his memories of Gene's world and trying to work out whether they were real or otherwise.

"_Simon?"_

He heard Alex saying his name but couldn't quite break out of the damn awful memories that plagued him. They were strong and vivid like the day they happened; the struggle to put one foot in front of the other, the patronising tone of every visitor that trailed through his hospital room, all the pity and the struggling and the feelings of humiliation every time he fell to the floor.

"_Simon?"_

He remembered now all the things he'd blocked out; the bandage around his head, the hair regrowth where his head had been shaven for the operation to reduce the pressure on his brain. The misshapen skull he'd been left with. All those little moments that distressed and depressed him, dragged him down, made him want to scream and cry.

"_Oi, Shoes-for-Brains."_

Gene's angry yell snapped Simon out of his stupor for a moment as his neck snapped around and his eyes fixed on Gene.

_"What?"_ he demanded somewhat crossly.

Gene was back in bed. The doctors were discussing him frantically I the corner and Gene was trying hard to pretend that nothing had ever happened. He pointed to the bag in Simon's hand.

"If there's something more edible than a cardboard box in that bag of yours then bring it over here," he demanded, "state of the food in this place, I'm going to be a bloody waif by the time I get out of here."

Simon felt himself shake a little as he walked toward Gene, head bowed, and handed him the bag. He couldn't look at him; couldn't bring himself to look him in the eye. It brought back too many awful memories and he wasn't up to facing them.

"Here," he said quickly, "enjoy them."

He turned and walked quickly out of the room, ignoring Gene's angry yell behind him informing Simon that he'd forgotten a stirrer for his latte. He shook his head as his pace increased as he moved along the corridor until his footsteps died down and he came to rest against the wall, breathing heavily.

He couldn't face it. He couldn't face seeing Gene that way. Gene was the strongest man he knew, he was a leader and a fighter. The image of him crumped in a heap on the ground would haunt Simon eternally.

It brought it all back. It brought back those terrifying weeks of recuperation. He'd thought he would never walk or talk again at one point and had managed to fight to take back his life but what if Gene wasn't so lucky?

Simon was fast reaching breaking point. Between the most vicious row with Robin, his _best-friend-slash-sort-of-father-thing_ in danger of taking away permanent damage from a terrible injury and flashbacks from his accident forcing themselves at him with the speed at which Gene had knocked Sam Tyler flying he didn't know how to keep going… to keep breathing... The world was getting on top of him and crushing him. He wasn't sure he could find the way to take in another lungful of air.

He was suffocating slowly. But that was alright. He didn't want to breathe any more, anyway.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Whoops, sorry, I angsted again :-/ And just a word of warning, the next chapter's going to be very dark, and also long so it may not be up until Monday. I'm just a big ball of joy and happiness! x**_


	39. Chapter 38: Living Without Life

_**A/N: Change of plan – I have angsted too much and the chapter was growing to the size of Geoff's arse-cleavage so I've split it into two. More angst tomorrow…**_

_**~xXx~**_

**Chapter 38**

A week since Gene had awoken, something was starting to stink.

"It's _you!"_ Gene accused, turning Alex's face a deep shade of red and leading to her surreptitiously attempting to sniff her own armpits without being spotted.

"It is _not,"_ she said indignantly.

"Bolly, you smell like a bin man who's just come off a sixteen hour shift, dumping Geoff's old loofahs," Gene said as tactfully as always.

"That's not nice," Robin really didn't want to be witnessing this conversation, nor the ceremonial sniffing of pits.

He'd only dropped by with fruit. He wished he hadn't bothered. First of all Gene had started a ten minute tirade about the frankly frustrating giving of fruit to _all_ hospital patients including an extra complaint about not having any implements to peel the buggers, then he had spent a further ten minutes unleashing what had felt like a highly polished comedy routine about Robin's less-than-efficient canine division and now he was listening to him insult the cleanliness of his nearest and dearest, and having to watch Alex with her nose buried in her own armpit? He should have just posted a card. It would have been far less traumatic.

"You've not left me side all week," Gene's tone was less severe and more concerned now. Alex looked at him slightly sheepishly, mid-sniff.

"I'm here to take care of you," she said quietly.

"Take care of me or gas me with yer posh bird B.O.?" Gene asked.

"It's hard washing with that pink goop from the soap dispensers in the toilet," Alex protested.

"You need to go home tonight," Gene told her, "spend half an hour in the shower crooning yer heart out to Who Do You Think You Are? You'll feel like a new woman."

"How about I just sing _Don't Speak_ instead?" she said pointedly.

This was starting to drain Robin to listen to. He knew that was how Gene and Alex usually communicated. The problem was, that was how he and Kim usually communicated too, albeit with more threats of arse-piercing. Ever since he'd had the nightmare about her current state a few days before he'd been in a mess mentally. He'd have done anything that he could to go home but it was impossible, neither could he bring her over to _his_ side.

Gene was starting to worry about Alex. He didn't really think that she ponged like Geoff's arse cleavage, but he didn't want her to feel trapped with him either. He wanted her to feel that she could go home and forget about him for a night. He understood she'd been terrified of losing him and her fears for his safety had grown after the failed standing attempt a few days before but she needed to look after herself too. Her hair was like an unwashed haystack, her clothes creased from nights spent sleeping in makeshift beds by his side and she'd drunk so much coffee that she was starting to sound like a Nescafe advert. It wasn't even the good stuff. There had been a serious lack of _Latte Land_ produce in the last few days.

"Where's me prodigal son anyway?" he demanded.

"Oh, don't even joke about that, it's still too soon," Robin slapped his forehead.

Gene's turn of phrase might have been unfortunate but his question remained.

"Where is he?" He asked with more seriousness, "thought he'd be camping out in here to get away from Terry and his plan to decorate CID with water balloons to be chucked in his direction wherever possible.

Alex and Robin exchanged a glance. Neither knew for sure where Simon was. He'd seemed to make a point of disappearing after his last visit to Gene. Alex knew that Simon had been distressed by seeing Gene fall. It had killed her inside to watch that, too. But Simon seemed to have been traumatised by it in ways she hadn't anticipated and he'd found himself unable to face going back. He seemed to have all but disappeared at work, too. There had been the odd sighting as he rushed down a corridor or up a staircase but he'd always say he was too busy and would catch up later.

He never did.

"I think he's busy with CID," Robin told him. It was a lie and as Alex's thankful glance told him Gene was unaware of the situation. Simon hadn't been seen in his _own_ department, let alone covering CID. In fact, with Gene in hospital and Alex staying by his side Robin had been trying to juggle some makeshift control over CID with running the canine unit. He could have done with some help. He'd been running himself raged between the two places. At least Gene had a better office; one without pipes that rattled every time someone flushed the toilet.

Gene spotted Alex sniffling around her clothes again and began to feel just a little guilty.

"Look, Drake, just go home and take a shower," he sighed, I think you can trust me not to kill anyone for shoving a thermometer in the wrong place for a _few_ hours."

"I don't want to leave you," Alex told him.

"Christ, woman, no one ever died by going home long enough to take a shower," said Gene.

"_I_ did."

Two sets of eyes turned to stare at Robin who'd spoken without thinking. Gene felt like cringing He couldn't believe he'd said that.

"Can someone help me move me legs?" he asked, "because I need to get one of me feet into me gob."

"It's fine, really," Robin dismissed, feeling a little guilty for blurting that out. He glanced at Alex. "I'm also fairly sure I was an isolated case," he said quietly.

Alex gave a tiny flicker of a smile.

"Alright," she conceded, "I'll go home, but only for one night." She got to her feet slowly, "and when I come back I'm bringing toiletries."

"Sounds like a fair deal," said Gene.

She kissed him and gave him an anxious smile as she looked at the bandage around his head a wished that she could wave a wand and make everything better.

"Behave yourself," she warned him. "I've given the doctors our number in case you cause someone to resign with your unique brand of humour."

"Get lost, Drake," Gene told her as she smiled and walked to the door. Robin began to follow but Gene called him back. "Oi, Dogsbody."

Robin looked crestfallen.

"Oh _no,_ that's not my new nickname is it?" he whimpered, "that's _much_ worse than Batman."

"I could go back to calling you Mister Stringer again," Gene threatened.

"How about you just don't call me anything and let me go home?" Robin begged, "I haven't eaten all day and my fridge is calling me."

"Just want a word," he said, a request that instantly worried Robin.

"What have I done?" he demanded.

Gene glanced at Alex who was hovering by the door.

"Go on," he shooed her, "go home and get a shower and a good night's sleep before the bags under yer eyes get big enough to get headhunted by Sainsbury's."

Alex hesitated. She felt reluctant to leave but eventually she gave a slightly wary smile, nodded and left.

Gene turned his attention to Robin.

"Batman –"

"Back to Batman?" Robin asked.

_"Robin,"_ Gene's serious expression coupled with the use of his name put Robin on high alert.

"What is it, Gene?" he asked

"Simon." Just the use of his name made Robin shuffle uncomfortably. "Where is he? No bollocks. The truth."

Robin hesitated. He looked away and he began eventually;

"I don't know, Guv. I mean... he has been at work… sometimes…but he just doesn't seem to be… _around_ very much."

"He saw me closely inspecting the floor the other day," Gene said gruffly as he recalled his collapse, "hasn't be back since."

"I think he's really busy," Robin said sheepishly.

"Bollocks he is," Gene told him, "tell him get his overgrown mop of hair and his Noel Edmonds fashion sense down here. Need to see him."

"What do you need to talk to him about?" Robin asked.

Gene felt a lump of worry lodged in his throat. _Because I bloody miss the twat,_ he thought to himself

"Need to advise him on a few cases," he said instead, "if you see him, send him my way, would you?"

Robin gave a slightly sad smile.

"Of course," he said quietly.

He felt a darkness settling over him as he left Gene's hospital room. He wasn't sure when he'd last seen Simon from a distance but he knew the last time they'd spoken, and that had been an explosion of angst and trauma. He really wasn't looking forward to talking with him again. But he could see full well that Gene's words were a cover up, he was worried about Simon and he couldn't blame him because he wasn't the only one. Even after their furious last exchange Robin was worried about him too. Wanted to kick his arse for being so spiteful and vindictive, but worried too. He sighed to himself as he realised he was probably going to end up paying him a visit that evening.

X

Gene stared at the blank wall as Robin's footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Was this the first time he'd been truly alone since he'd woken up? He thought so. Alex had refused to leave his side for most of the time, and even when she disappeared to the toilet or the canteen for a few minutes there would always be someone else with him; someone from work or a doctor or nurse. Thankfully no Geoff, but he knew it was still early days.

Now he was alone he began to regret sending everyone away. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the memories of his attack filter back to him but he could still feel that crack over the head and still remember all the events that took place when he'd found himself in another world.

He'd thought that was as bad as thing could get but then he'd woken up and suddenly everything was different. His legs were as useless as the canteen's Christmas menu, his fiancée had been jumping into bed with a half-galvanised woman and his friend and _maybe-sort-of-long-lost-son-thing_ had disappeared into the ether. Maybe he should never have come back.

He threw back the covers and stared at his legs. Knobbly knees peered out from beneath his humiliating gown. Why had they not let him put on pyjamas yet? The fact that he didn't own any was nether her not there. Pyjamas were for posh tosspots with monogramed pockets and matching dressing gowns.

"Alright," he addressed his legs, "you and me, we've got business. I want you to pay very close attention to what I'm about to tell you because I'm not repeating it. It's bad enough talking to me bloody legs _one_ time, let alone twice." he paused and poked himself in the knee. "Talk of me trying to get back up on you tomorrow, I don't want you showing me up like last time. Gave me all the dignity of Keats with a VIP pass at a Ridgeley concert. So here's what we're going to do. We're going to experiment while Bolly's not here to see you're still showing me up. And if you're in full working order then we'll take ourselves for a visit to the hospital canteen and buy something that doesn't involve plates of cardboard lasagne and poo pudding. And if not," he closed his eyes for a moment. The 'if not' didn't have any conditions. In fact, he refused to acknowledge that it existed. He opened his eyes again and stared at his legs. "Come on, boys, do it for yer country." He lifted one leg and slowly sipped it over the edge of the bed and the second soon followed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then another. This was it. Moment of truth. Glory or floor awaited.

~xXx~

Robin drove along with his head in a spin. The last place he wanted to go was Simon's. But Gene's words had been worrying him and now he wanted to make sure that Simon was OK.

"_Heyyyyyyy, welcome back!"_ the cheerful DJ on the radio greeted him,_ "In five minutes from now we've got the latest edition of the Word Wash where we've washed out a word and you have to tell us what it is, but first here are Robson and Jerome with their cover of What Becomes of the Broken Hearted."_

"Ugh! Robson and _Jerome?"_ Robin was fast discovering the downside to 1997. He fiddled with the radio and found _Your Woman_ playing instead. That was far more acceptable. Reminded Robin that the 90s _did_ have some music that didn't make him want to vomit pus from his eyeballs.

He half-sang, half-mumbled the words along to the song as he drove, stopping at a red light and drumming his fingers against the wheel in time to the music when suddenly the radio crackled and cut out as another station seemed to interfere.

"Hey, I was _listening_ to that!" he cried crossly, slapping the dashboard. He started to move the dial a little, hoping to tune it in a little better but after a couple of attempts the music stopped completely and very clear voices came on.

"…_made this appointment for you because he was concerned about how you were coping after the loss of your partner and child."_

Robin froze as he heard those words. That was a hauntingly familiar scenario."

"_I told you,"_ a second voice came over the air, _"I'm fine."_

"_Your superintendent has noticed some aspects of your behaviour that could be linked with depression," _the first voice carried on, _"do you feel depressed?"_

"_Me? I'm just a ball of sunshine and joy."_

With a jolt to the heart Robin realised whose voice he was listening to.

"_Kim?"_ he whispered, his hands pressed against the dashboard as every inch of him trembled.

"_You've refused to continue counselling following the incident at the station and the loss you suffered."_

"_An incident is a car hitting a wall. That man gunned down me and my colleagues in cold blood."_

"Oh Kim, _no,"_ Robin whispered, drawing closer to the radio, his fingers running slowly around it.

"_Your friends are still receiving therapy."_

"_They're my colleagues. Not my friends."_

"_Do you feel as though you're isolating yourself from them?"_

"_Because I don't call them friends? Just being in the same office as someone doesn't make them a friend."_

"No, it doesn't," Robin whispered softly. He started to realise just how lonely he was. He didn't have any friends to speak of apart from Simon and Alex, and he didn't make new ones easily. Kim wasn't the only one isolating herself.

"_And your partner,"_ the voice began, _"have you been able to go to his grave?"_

The wretched feeling that sank over Robin made him want to gag and vomit as the image of Kim sitting by his grave came into his mind. What the hell _was_ this? Why was he hearing this? He didn't want to, he knew that much for certain. Angrily he reached out and knocked the dial to another station but the song that played at full volume was one that wouldn't even be released for anther thirteen years

_#...You took the tunnel route home._

_You'd never taken that way with me before._

_Did you feel a need for change?_

_Apologies on your fingernails,_

_Love flickered in the city of lights_

_Like intermittent radio waves…#_

"Oh no, no, _no_…. not this again…" Robin bashed at the radio to shut it up. The last time he heard that song he ended up dead. In fact, _every_ time it played either he or Kim ended up maimed, at death's door or losing their life. True, he was pretty much as dead as he was going to get now but it was still not something he wanted to hear.

_#...I don't need your tears_

_I don't want your love_

_I've just got to get home…#_

"Why is this not switching _off?"_ he demanded as he tried thumping at the buttons again. He hated that song. It was the soundtrack to every trauma he and Kim had faced together. The lyrics did not help. They said too much. He started to scream at the radio, hitting it so hard that his fist started to sting. The lights had changed back to green and there were cars behind him whose horns were screaming at him to move but he couldn't. He didn't dare until the damn song went away.

_#...And I feel like I'm breaking up_

_But I wanted to stay._

_Headlights on the hillside_

_Don't take me this way._

_I don't want you to hold me_

_I want you to pray,_

_This is bigger than us…#_

"_No!"_ screamed Robin as he slapped the machine one last time and one last burst of Kim's voice came through –

"…_Just want to close my eyes and fade away –"_

Then the radio switched off with a crackle; the display died and the static around him fizzled out. Behind him there were angry drivers honking and beeping but all Robin could hear was the devastation in Kim's voice.

"Kim, _no," _he cried, "you're the strong one, you're the _survivor_."

But he knew only too well that nothing feels worse than surviving when you have nothing left to live for.

~xXx~

Alex stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her dripping body. The bathroom was full of steam and the mirror so fogged up that she couldn't see her reflection in the slightest. She padded up and down on the mat to dry her feet then tiptoed through to the bedroom where she quickly dried herself, dressed and made sure she was wearing enough deodorant and perfume to gas Gene and make him long for her to never take another shower again. She'd soon teach him to accuse her of stinking up the place.

It actually felt strange to be in her house. She had barely been back all week. She'd dropped in to pick up one change of clothes and another time for some of Gene's things but that had been it. Living in the hospital had been quite an experience. Not only was there the peril of washing the with gunky pink hand soap but she was stuck with the hospital TV which only picked up three channels (and two of them were BBC1), she's lived on coffee and chocolate bars from the vending machines down the corridor and she had a permanent neck ache from the various make-shift beds she had created.

Her stomach gurgled sickeningly; the caffeine overdose and lack of proper food starting to take their toll. She supposed she might as well get something to eat while she was there. Not that she had much of an appetite, she had to admit. The worry about Gene had killed it stone dead from the day he'd taken the blow to the head.

She walked downstairs and into the kitchen where she hunted for something to eat but between the fact that she hadn't left Gene's side all week and her lack of interest in cooking there wasn't much in at all. She managed to find some cheese and some bread that wasn't _too_ stale if she cut off one of the crusts, so she made a sandwich and took it to the lounge where she switched on the TV and sank into the couch, only just starting to realise how much she missed her home comforts.

She bit into her sandwich but could hardly taste it. Was that down to the poor ingredients or the worry? Not to mention the guilt. Despite Gene's insistence that she should go home for a while, not to mention his rather fragrant explanation as to _why_ she should, she felt bad for leaving him alone. She knew the doctors were talking about trying to get him on his feet again the following day and she could only imagine how scared Gene must have felt about that, considering the last time.

She stared vacantly at the TV screen as she forced down half of her sandwich and a few sips of coffee. It was strange to be drinking real coffee instead of something that a machine had coughed and spluttered into a feeble plastic cup. At least so far none of it had ended up down her shirt. Her stomach burbled and churned as it did battle with her sandwich after a week of nothing but sugary snacks. It didn't seem all that happy with the cuisine she'd prepared.

"Oh, shut _up,"_ she told it, "I'm sorry I'm not Robin, I don't _have_ a fridgeful of home-made leftovers."

That was one thing she missed from her time staying with Robin and Kim in the real world: there was a never-ending supply of good food. She was surprised that Robin had never quit the force and opened up a restaurant. It would have done a roaring trade. In fact, coupled with his teenage aspirations to be a lion tamer, he could have combined the two and done a _literally_ 'roaring' trade. _Tame While You Eat._ It was clearly a money spinning idea.

A commercial break began and she stared on blankly as she forced a final bite from her sandwich and put the plate to one side. She'd barely managed to eat half. She was already still looking skinny and frail from arriving back in Gene's world a good couple of months ago now and this wasn't helping. She leaned back with her mug in her hands, sipping her coffee as she watched an advert for an adult chat line begin on the screen.

"_Hey guys and girls!"_ the sleazy voiceover began, _"feeling lonely? Feeling horny? Want a loofah where the sun doesn't shine?" _

Alex sat up a little with a frown. This wasn't a very pleasant advert.

_"Then just call this number and Geoff will turn on the loofah talk!"_

_Oh shit_… OK, Alex was glad she wasn't still eating now because if she _had_ been then she'd probably have ended up spitting the rest of her sandwich across the TV screen.

"_I was so lonely,"_ a blonde woman with a large, buoyant chest and a huge, cheesy grin said into the camera, "_but then I called Geoff and he just loofahed-up my day!"_

"_When I feel lonely I just call Geoff,"_ a man with an equally cheesy grin smiled as he danced to the Geoff-music in the background, _"and all my cares fall away!"_

_"So remember,"_ the voiceover said as gaudy graphics bearing the words appeared on the screen in a diagonal formation, _"next time you need a little loofah in your life, just call: GEOFF, GEOFF GEOFF!" _

To Alex's horror the telephone number, _0898 G-E-O-F-F_ appeared at the bottom of the screen in pink neon text.

"_Oh for the love of…"_ she swallowed hard as the sandwich threatened to make a reappearance.

She sipped her coffee for comfort as another advert began with a cheesy jingle for _Toblerone_ but before it even got to the part about triangular honey and triangular bees the image changed to one of somebody sitting in an office. The picture was fuzzy, smeared with interference at first and Alex couldn't make out who it was.

"Oh, don't tell me the cable's on the blink again?" she groaned. It wouldn't have been the first time. The channels were always going wrong; the wrong relay being pumped from the cable headquarters, someone flipping the wrong switch… but as the image cleared a little she realised that someone would have had to have flipped the most incorrect switch in the world for this to be a cable issue.

Her heart recognised the face before her mind did as it informed her by speeding up and sending a wave of heat through her limbs. The blood rushed to her face, turning her cheeks pink while her hands shook so wildly that coffee spilled onto her clean clothes. She didn't notice. She was all-consumed by the image on the TV screen as she realised who she was staring at.

"_Kim?"_ she breathed.

The last time she had seen Kim's face it had been full of tears and anguish, lowering the tarpaulin over Alex to send her home. Alex flinched at the memory. What kind of a friend does that for someone? It went above and beyond. She should never have asked her to do that. She knew Kim would have to live with that moment for the rest of her life. That she had made such a gesture to send her back to her home and the world, the man and the job she loved showed Alex that Kim was one incredible, strong, devoted friend,

But the Kim she saw on the screen looked far from strong. She'd never seen her so empty and desolate. Her eyes were glassy and blank as tough there was nothing left behind them. No spark. No fire. No joy. Hey barely looked blue any longer. They seemed grey, their exuberance lost. Her skin looked pale and dull, her hair flat and lifeless and her body looked as though it had been lacking nutrition for weeks. Her clothes hung about her like rags on a scarecrow and her hands were shaking. This was not the Kim she knew. This wasn't the feisty Kim who'd reduced some other station's DI to tears for upsetting Alex over the DNA testing of her unborn baby in 2011. This wasn't the vivacious Kim who would laugh raucously with Robin over shared jokes all night long. This wasn't the beautiful and passionate Kim with whom she'd sought one night of tender comfort and intimacy. This was a Kim who had been devastated by circumstance. An empty husk. A woman with nothing left in her life.

Suddenly as Alex blinked the most bizarre thing occurred and she found Kim right there in front of her, sitting in the room on a chair Alex knew she didn't own, talking to someone Alex couldn't see. She could hear echoes of their voice as Kim's eyes focused on some person Alex wasn't able to see. This was so strange; it shook her down to the bone. Many years ago she would see visions of Molly in the room with her, standing there as though she had a physical presence. But that was different; Alex was alive back in the real world and Molly merely filtered through to her subconscious as she spoke to her.

She was dead now; she knew that as a fact. Her heart wasn't beating out there on the other side of the line. Kim had made sure of that. Alex wasn't going to risk waking up out there and losing Gene again. So how was this even possible?

"…_Just want to close my eyes and fade away –"_

Kim's words brought an instant sadness to Alex and her heart sank as she realised just how low her fried had become.

_"Oh Kim,"_ she whispered, "_please,_ don't give up."

"…_need to focus on what you still have,"_ some disjointed voice spoke. Alex didn't catch every word but she heard enough to understand the gist of it, _"You have your sons –"_

"_Who I get to see once every two weeks,"_ Kim whispered.

"_What about the rest of your family? This might be a good time to reconcile."_

"_I have no intention of contacting those people,"_ Kim's voice was cold and her stare hard and unfeeling.

"_You can't keep making yourself an island, Kimberley –"_

"_It's Kim!"_ Suddenly there was a flash of anger in Kim's eyes. It was the first emotion that Alex had seen and was only brought on by the association her full name held to Keats, _"I told you, don't call me that."_

"_Why do you have such a negative –_

"_I'm not even going there.  
_

"_I'm only trying to establish –"  
_

"_Well don't,"_ as Alex watched the vision of Kim got to her feet, trembling from head to toe. _"I'm only here because it was required before my position becomes permanent. I don't need your help and I don't want it. This session is over."_

"_Oh Kim,"_ Alex whispered. She could feel tears beginning to emerge in the corners of her eyes and they quickly clouded her vision. To see her friend so weak after watching her bloom in the weeks she'd spent staying with her broke her heart. She slowly got to her feet and stepped closer, shaking almost as much as Kim. The closer she drew, the more real Kim seemed. It was unnerving. She couldn't explain what was happening; only that it was an extremely tangible experience. As she stepped towards her she reached out with her fingers and tried to touch her; wanted to lay her hand against her cheek and turn her face around, to look her in the eye and tell her everything would be OK, but her hand went straight through and the vision faded to nothing.

"_Ma'am!"_

With a gasp of shock Alex heard Kim cry for her. Her voice sounded desperate and terrified like Alex had never heard before in her life.

_"Kim?"_ she cried. She spun around as though expecting to find here there somewhere inn the room with her but there was no sign. "_Kim?"_ she cried again.

"_Oh god, no, ma'am,"_ she heard Kim's vice again, sounding more terrified than before.

"Kim, where _are_ you?" she cried as she wiped away a tear that had spiled out onto her cheek, "_Kim?"_

"_No!"_ Kim's voice grew more urgent, "_No! You bastard! You bastard!"_

"_Kim?"_ Alex was frantic by now. She could hear her so clearly, why couldn't she _see_ her? She turned around, scanning the room one more time and the flickering TV screen drew her in. "Kim –"

On the screen before her was a room she recognised. It was Robin and Kim's lounge. The clock on the wall still dead as it had been since Christmas Eve. With horror she watched the screen as Kim crawled slowly across the floor to her _own_ television set, peering at the action on its screen with terror and anguish across her face. Kim's head and body blocked the picture so Alex couldn't see what she was watching but it had clearly shaken her soul to the greatest of extremes.

"_Ma'am, no!"_ she wept, her hands flat against the glass, _"Please! What can I do? What the hell am I supposed to do? How do I stop this?"_ There were angry tears flowing down her cheeks as she struck the TV repeatedly with her fist as though she could change what she was seeing. _"Please! Ma'am… Alex! ALEX!"_

The use of her real name was the thing thaat shocked Alex the most. She tumbled to her knees and stumbled to the television set, her face just inches away from the vision that made so little sense.

"Kim, I'm _here,"_ she cried as though she could hear her, "I'm here, I'm fine… Kim, what's wrong?"

But Kim couldn't see her, nor could she hear her. Whatever Kim was watching, it was _not_ an upset Alex trying to soothe her friend. Whatever Kim was watching was something so dark so disturbing that she could not cope with the images she'd seen. She coughed and gagged; retched and vomited, her sobbing and her cries reaching a terrifying crescendo before the TV made a violent 'ping' noise and the vision faded to black.

_"No!"_ screamed Alex, hitting the screen just as she'd watched Kim do a moment before, "No, come _back_ – Kim, what… _please_, Kim, tell me what you _saw_… What was it? What… what's happening? What was I _doing_, what…" she swallowed, her voice trailing to a whisper as her stomach twisted and churned with fear, "what did you see, Kim?…. What _happened_ to me…" she paused, "…what _happens_ to me?" she corrected.

The darkest feeling swelled around her. That was it, of course. Whatever Kim had seen was something that hadn't happened yet, she was deadly sure of it. Kim's words more or less confirmed that, begging with her vision to tell her how to stop it.

What could ever be so dark? What could be so deeply disturbing that she reacted so severely? Alex couldn't recall ever feeling so scared or fearful in her whole life; not even in her early days in a strange world had she ever felt such fear.

As she wiped her eyes furiously and longed to turn back the clock and remove the last few minutes from history, another thought struck her, one that she couldn't quite resolve in her head. She'd seen Kim there as clearly as anything, as though she'd been in the room beside her. That used to happen, way back when Akex was alive, but she was dead now and had no physical presence back in the real world. Not one that wasn't scattered around the memorial garden in Manchester alongside the body of the no-longer _unknown PC_, anyway.

But she'd seen Kim. And Kim was still out there, living – more or less – back in the real world.

If visions were only usually there for those who were still alive on the other side then how come Alex had seen what she had seen?

Unless things worked the other way around too.

In which case, what did that say about Kim?


	40. Chapter 39: Mustn't Close Your Eyes

_**A/N: I am sorry, I am still a big ball of ANGST and the one chapter of angst has multiplied by several times now… because this is still not the end… more angst tomorrow… I apparently have become distracted with the dark side!**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 39**

Robin knocked on the door, stepped back and waited. Was Simon even going to be in? And if he was, would he open the door? There was a part of Robin that hoped he wouldn't, as terrible as that sounded. He didn't want to have to deal with Simon's attitude and his cruel comments about Kim again. It sickened Robin. Not only was it unfair to attack someone who wasn't there to defend themselves but Kim had been such a good friend to Simon. To let his jealousy ruin that seemed so unlike Simon and upset Robin deeply.

He suck his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall for a moment . Should he knock again? He didn't really want to. He'd done his bit, he could at least tell Gene he'd tried. If Simon wasn't answering then that wasn't –

Oh. Footsteps. Shit.

The door opened slowly. The other side of it was a depressed, vacant stare from Simon.

"Oh," he said when he saw Robin, "It's you."

His voice was devoid of emotion, flat and monotone. He looked as though he'd been sleeping in his clothes from the crumpled appearance of his shirt. There was enough stubble on his chin to accuse him of threatening to prepare for an Evan lookalike contest.

"Simon?" Robin said quietly, "I just… are you alright?"

Simon's eyes turned downward for a moment. He didn't want to answer that question. In fact he didn't want to think about it.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he said quietly, "after the things you said the other day."

"The things we both said," Robin corrected, "hey, come on, we were both angry. I think we probably both said things we regret. Didn't we?" He watched Simon shrug like a kid called to task over naughty behaviour.

"S'pose so," he mumbled.

Robin frowned. It wasn't exactly a glowing apology. But he wasn't really there for one anyway.

"Look Simon, this isn't a social call," Robin said quietly, "It's Gene."

Simon's head snapped up like it was on a piece of elastic. A strange look came across his face as he whispered,

"What? What's happened, is he OK?" he paused, "Is it his legs?"

"His –" Robin recalled Gene's words. He shook his head. "No, nothing like that," he said, "although they are trying to help him stand tomorrow. They think he might be ready this time."

"What if he's never ready?" Simon mumbled but his voice was too low to be heard.

"Si, the thing is," Robin began, "Gene wants to know where you are."

Simon looked down again.

"I suppose this is where I get a bollocking," he sighed, "look, I've had a migraine, I just left work so I could rest –"

"It's nothing to do with work," Robin said quietly, concerned by the dull pallor of Simon's skin, "he said you haven't been by to see him for a few days.

"I've been busy," Simon said quietly.

"Busy having migraines?" Robin asked before he could stop himself. He could smell alcohol around Simon and closed his eyes for a moment,. "He's worried about you," he said quietly, "and so am I."

"Don't need your worry," Simon mumbled, "I'm fine."

"You're obviously not."

"I told you I had a migraine." Simon's tone bordered on rude as his volume rose, "I need to go and lay back down."

Robin stared at him, wishing that he could say something to get through to Simon. The man seemed so lifeless. There was nothing behind his eyes.

"Look, Gene is worried about you," said Robin, "and I think he misses you. Would it kill you just to go and see him?"

Simon flinched as he relived the sight of Gene on the ground, reduced to a pile of limbs in a tangled heap. He felt so angry every time the image came back to him. Gene was strong, he was tough. _That_ was not Gene. _That_ was some other person. A sudden flash came to him, his own long, slow recovery; being forced to take a step when he couldn't even remember where his legs were, let alone how to move one. He remembered the angry desperate growl he gave as he tried to express that he wasn't ready and the pain in his knees as he buckled. Seeing Gene going through the self-same thing had brought so much back and he didn't know how to pack the memories back neatly in their little box and turn the key in the lock.

"Simon? _Simon?"_

"_What?"_ there was an edgy tone to Simon's voice as he snapped. He hadn't meant to. Robin's words had interrupted his flashbacks and caught the brunt of the emotion.

"I think if you went to see him tomorrow, he would…" he paused and shrugged, "he'd really appreciate that."

"Yeah. OK." Simon said quietly. He just wanted to get rid of Robin. "Look, my head's pounding. Can we continue this some other tie?"

Robin hesitated as he looked at Simon. His own fears rode sky-high.

"Simon?" he asked quietly, "are you _sure_ you're OK?"

Simon just barely caught his eye and had to look away.

"Perfectly," he mumbled, "look, I'll see you tomorrow, OK?"

He backed away and closed the door leaving Robin standing outside with fears that just weren't going anywhere.

~xXx~

Alex sat trembling on the couch, a large measure from a bottle of Gene's finest in her hands. The glass shook so much that a few droplets of the liquid spilt as she brought it up to her mouth and tried to take a sip.

She couldn't make sense of what she had seen, but she knew one thing for certain. Dark times were heading their way. The storm clouds were rolling in.

She rubbed her forehead as she thought about Kim's desperate cries; calling her name, begging for – _whatever_ she had seen – not to happen. What the hell _had_ she seen? Had it been a vision into Gene's world? Were they watching one another? Alex knew that whatever Kim had seen hadn't been pleasant. She had never seen such a terrible, physical response to seeing something before. And it involved her. Something bad – no, something gut-wrenchingly _terrible_ was going to happen to her.

God, her hands were shaking harder now. She took a big gulp of the liquid that burned every inch of the way as it travelled down her throat. What the fuck had Kim seen? Was Alex about to die? How could she die, she was dead already. She was like Gene now – immortal. Indestructible. Although, Gene's injury had make her wonder about that. In fact, they were _all_ wondering about that. So many of the rules had changed – was this another one?

If not her death then what _else_ could Kim have seen? Had Alex been the one sustaining a severe injury? Had something hurt her? Had some_one_ hurt her? Was this something that was destined to happen? Was there any way to change it?

She took another gulp of her drink. God, she felt sick. To know something terrible was about to occur but not know where or when or what was torture. And she had to live with that from then on until it finally happened.

She stared shakily into the glass. She couldn't tell Gene; she didn't _dare_. He had enough to cope with. Could she tell _anyone?_ They would all think she was losing the plot, and she couldn't blame them. She shook her head and pulled her knees up to her chest in the vague hope it might bring her comfort.

That was only part of the problem, too. The images of Kim, so fragile, so lost – they had been so difficult for Alex to watch. She knew how full of life Kim was. She knew how feisty and vivacious she was by nature. The shadow of Kim that she'd seen before her was hard to equate with the passionate, volatile young lady she had become so close to. It pulled her apart inside.

Everything was painful and confusing. Alex had never been afraid to go to sleep before but suddenly she couldn't stand the thought of closing her eyes.

~xXx~

"This was just between me and you, OK?" Gene told his legs as he pulled the covers back over them, "breathe a word of this and we'll be having a _serious_ talk."

But his legs remained pretty much silent.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against his pillows, exhausted now. His eyes were closing and he couldn't fight it. It had been a fairly draining day between all the picking on Alex for her alleged B.O., upsetting doctors by pretending he'd spotted their cars on fire out of the window and having illicit discussions with his knobbly knees. He knew it was only early but he just needed to close his eyes for a few moments. Just a short snooze would do. Then he'd be feeling all refreshed ready to _really_ annoy the night staff.

Ahh, the little pleasures.

X

Heat and flame.

There was fire everywhere. Tongues of fire lapped up and down the walls. The building burnt around him. There were screams; screams so loud that his ears were ringing, screams so loud they sent the crackling of the flames into the background. The heat was growing to unbearable proportions now and the smoke was choking him so hard that his lungs felt although they'd been torn to shreds.

_"Gene! GENE!"_

He could hear her; _Bolly._ He could hear her agonised cries. Where _was_ she? He called her name again and again but although he could hear her he couldn't see her.

_"Gene, please!"_

He heard a different voice now, one coughing and choking hard as the smoke dragged him down, "_Help me – I can't… can't take any more…"_

More screaming; voices less familiar, faces he didn't know quite that well but that were all around him. The fear the terror the anguish, the pain.

The fire continued to swish and swirl around him as he could hear a voice that hissed inside his mind;

_"Who are you going to save, Gene? What are you going to do?"_

He heard the words but he couldn't identify the voice. Not really. It could have been anyone. The words melted into a blur.

"_Gene!"_

"_Gene, please, help –"_

"_Gene, here – there's another one…"_

He spun around, his head turned from side to side. Faces, voices, all of them in fear and terror as the heat increased and the chances of making it out safely began to slip away.

"_No!"_ he screamed at the top of his lungs.

_"Who are you going to save?"_ the voice asked again, _"what are you going to do? Your kingdom is burning around you. What are you going to do when it's all reduced to ashes, Gene?"_

The last thing he saw was one heavily burnt body lying on the ground, someone he couldn't see sobbing by its side. Then his eyes flew open and he was as wide awake as he'd been in his life.

His chest rose and fell as he panted for air. He was back in his hospital room and the air was cool. No heat, no fire, no fear.

Well, _some_ fear. But only inside his own head.

"Shit," he gasped, clutching his chest just in case his heart should give out, "what the hell was _that?"_

He had no idea what caused the nightmare or why he'd been subjected to it; he had no idea who were the voices that screamed for help. But he knew one thing for certain – that it had been the most realistic dream of his life. In fact, he wasn't convinced it was a dream at all.

And he wouldn't be sleeping again any time soon.

~xXx~

Simon tipped two of the pills into his hand. It had been a long time since he'd reached for the tranquilisers but he couldn't make the nightmares and the flashbacks go away so he didn't feel like he had a lot of choice. Alcohol wasn't helping. There wasn't much else left to try.

He hadn't really slept in days, not since he'd seen Gene collapse. That had been the catalyst. He'd been through so much over the last two years, both back in the real world and once he'd arrived in Gene's, and he'd never had a chance to work through it all, not really. Now it was all coming out in the worst possible way.

The visions, the flashbacks, the terrible dreams he faced in the snatches of sleep he had been able to get – they were taunting him, making him desperate to scream, making him long to escape,. He had reached his breaking point. His accident back in the real world was the event that started this whole, dreadful cycle. Seeing Gene with the bound head and his struggle for his health reminded him far too much of his own plight back in May 2010. His life support had almost been disconnected, his friends and family had given up hope. He had no idea how he made it back.

And that was only the beginning – he then went through painful rehabilitation, the trauma of coming to terms with his experiences in Gene's world, being targeted by Keats, losing his life in a car crash, being separated from Robin, a cycle of drinking and depression that went on almost endlessly, becoming another notch on Keats's bedpost, discovering Gene had 'bonked' his mother and provided half of his DNA - and then finding out that the love of his life had met someone else. And that was still only the tip of the iceberg.

He moved through to the bedroom as the pills began to make him feel sleepy. He just wanted to go to sleep and to never wake up. Unfortunately for Simon he only got the first half of that wish.

~xXx~

Robin didn't drink much on his own. He'd never been much of a drinker anyway although that had changed a little in the presence of Kim. He was amused by the fact that some of his colleagues back in the real world had accused her of leading him astray, he'd done that all by himself. He liked the fact that when they drank together they didn't even drink the same thing. It amused him somehow. Like an alcoholic representation of their polar opposite sexuality.

Since he'd settled a little in Gene's world he'd rarely had a drink. The brandy bottle had taken a severe bashing for the first week or two but after that things had calmed down and he'd only had something if he was going out, which didn't happen very often. He didn't know many people; Gene and Alex had their own social circle and he didn't really want to butt in, Simon had been a permanent fixture at _Bask_ until its closure and aside from that he didn't really have anywhere to go. Jake and Marci had asked him clubbing a few times but since they were good fiends with Shaz Robin usually declined. The last thing he wanted was to spend an evening seething with jealousy. _Fuck_, he didn't want to turn into _Simon_.

And besides, he didn't really know Jake and Marci very well. He wasn't very good with new people. His tongue would get tied and instead of asking sensible questions he would end up blurting something like '_So do you like butts then?'_ or, '_'Who do you think would win in a fight, Ace Rimmer or the tennis player Lindsay Davenport?'_

But despite all of that, this was one night he reached for the brandy bottle. He poured himself a large glass and took a large mouthful, swilling it around in his mouth before he swallowed it down with a slight gasp. Between the shocking state of Simon and the upsetting experience of hearing Kim over the radio he was feeling shaken and distressed.

The two people he cared about most in the world were falling apart. One of them he couldn't help, the other wouldn't let him.

He took his drink into the bedroom and curled up on his bed. of course, bed wasn't the shelter it used to be. Not now he was the only one there. Back home he had never felt safer anywhere else but in bed with Kim by his side; here in Gene's world in a ruddy big bed with no one by his side it was just another lonely place.

He pulled the covers over him. The evening was chillier than he was expecting. It had been a long day; a long day that was just part of a trail of very long days. He felt unbelievably exhausted. It was still early but he really felt like he needed to get to sleep. He'd only had a couple of sips of brandy so it wasn't the alcohol. The day had drained him and sleep was calling. But as he closed his eyes and dreams took over he began to wish he'd stayed awake after all.

~xXx~

Alex hated being in bed by herself. It reminded her of her time separated from Gene, back in the real world. She had been in bed for five minutes when she realised it just wasn't going to work so she took the duvet to the sofa instead where she curled up on front of the TV. She worried at first that the telly was going to start showing images of Kim weeping and yelling her name again but all it showed were late night repeats of _Frasier_ and the Geoff phone line advert.

It was late when she finally fell asleep and even then it was only through emotional exhaustion and alcohol on a practically empty stomach. Otherwise she'd have stayed awake all night, worrying about what she had seen.

As it was, her dreams proved even more worrying.

~xXx~

For all who slept that night there were nightmares; torrid thoughts of wretchedness, a horror beyond words.

_Flame and fire, a heat that burned skin and soul._

Each dream so similar but every one with an individual twist; to hurt, to spite, to sting the heart.

X

Simon's body tossed and turned as his head filled with images and dreams that shook him deep inside. He saw the fire and the flame but beyond that was a nightmare that stung him deeper.

Why did he have to see _them?_ Why did his mind show them to him; bodies entwined; her short blonde locks a contrast to his dark hair; the grunts and the gasps and the cries as she lay there while he thrust away. It was cruel, too cruel… why did he have to see?

But as his line of sight changed and his mind's eye drew closer to the figures it gave him more clarity; a clearer view, a true representation of what he was seeing and the truth was even worse than the assumption his mind had made from a distance.

Jolted awake, heart pounding and palms sweating he gripped the bedclothes in his hands so hard that he thought his fingers would press holes it he sheets. He closed his eyes and gasped for breath, so shocked by what he'd seen that he almost couldn't function. It hadn't felt like a dream. It had felt like a vision, like a glimpse; no matter what his feelings and his anguish over Kim's relationship with Robin might have been he couldn't block out how much she'd meant to him as a friend for all those months and he would _never_ want to see her come to harm. He thought being shown her with Robin – _again_ – was the cruellest thing that he could see, but it wasn't. _This_ was worse. So much worse.

With a horror that choked him inside he whispered three words into the darkness.

"_That wasn't Robin."_

X

Robin gripped the pillow in his sleep, his hands crushing it with every second of dream that made him want to beg with his subconscious to awaken. The pain… the terrible, searing pain through his head … he thought _that_ was as bad as things could get but then came the words, the lines he could hear in his mind;

"_Breaks? What do you mean the breaks? Have you NO idea about my life –"_

"_You're deluded –"_

"_Not got a fucking clue… not a clue…"_

"_You want my life? Here – take it –"_

And one final line, hissed by another.

_"I've already got it."_

_Thwack._

Awake.

His body rose as he gave a pained cry, desperately scanning the room for whoever had caused him such pain, but he was alone; alone as always. No one there. No one to care, no one to hurt him, no one to watch him; just him, _alone._

The feeling of terror that he'd been left with was going to take a long time to fade. He could feel pain in his head and a soreness around his wrists where it felt like something had been tied. He looked down – of course there was nothing there.

His breath was fast and shallow, his forehead covered with beads of sweat, but more than that his mind was full of fear for the future.

He had a feeling that had been more than just a dream.

X

The fires began to fade. Of that she was grateful.

The nightmare had been going on seemingly forever and the heat was proving unbearable.

The change of scene was such a relief; from the heat of the fires to the cool breeze of the outdoors. And high up… _so_ high up… where _was_ she? What was she seeing? There was a figure up there. On a roof? Why were they on a _roof?_ What was she watching anyway? For a terrible moment she thought she was about to witness the creation of Sam Tyler's Splat Zone but she quickly realised the figure on the edge was _not_ Sam Tyler.

They had one thing in common though.

As Alex watched the figure go over the edge she tried desperately to scream; tried with all of her might but she had forgotten that it was almost impossible to scream in a nightmare.

She forced herself awake and finally the sound came forth. She screamed out, aware there was no one around to hear her, and horrid, angry tears began to fall down her face.

"Why did you do that?" she screamed, "you _can't_ do that! _No_! You… you _can't…."_

Her screams descended into sobs as she replayed the nightmare again and again in her head. She knew that what she had seen was more than a nightmare. It was a glimpse of something that had been, or was about to be, reality.

The crumbling of a rock.

And it upset her more than she could ever express.

X

Gene wasn't much one for dreams. He rarely had them. For years he didn't even think that he _could_.

Now two in one _night?_

His subconscious was really doing the dirty on him that night.

What began with more fire quickly turned into something that burned him harder than any flame. Nothing could scare him more than the sight he was shown. Than the sight of her, in danger

The sight of _her;_ life hanging in the balance.

The sight of _her_ – without him by her side.

Please, someone help her –

Please, _someone_ take her away from this –

Please –

_Please –_

But there was no one around. The danger was growing; her hope fading.

This was it for her. Her life, _over._

With that, his eyes jolted awake and a string of expletives ran forth from his mouth. He couldn't stop them. It just kept on going. So did the pulse that just wouldn't slow down.

What he had seen had left him with immeasurable fear. He wasn't sure he was ready to face it yet. Would he _ever_ be?

There was one thing he could say for certain; he would give anything to go back to those endless nights of dreamless sleep.


	41. Chapter 40: Nothing Behind His Eyes

_**A/N: Warning, I've been angsting like a mad woman. Things are getting darker.**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 40**

"Bloody hell, Bolly, if that's what passes for getting a proper night's sleep for once you might as well just stay sleeping on the floor."

Gene had been shocked by Alex's appearance as she arrived at the hospital the following morning. She looked far worse than she ever did waking up in the armchair or on the floor or anywhere else that she managed to seek sleep in his room for the night.

After her nightmare she'd been too scared to go back to sleep. She'd spent the rest of the night going over and over what she'd seen, both earlier that evening and in her dreams. She paced up and down, she huddled under the duvet, she wandered aimlessly from room to room but her mind never grew less troubled for it. The things she'd seen sickened her terribly. She couldn't remember ever feeling so scared in her life and all she wanted was to turn to Gene and feel his arms around her, keeping her safe.

Now she felt like she was slowly falling apart. She had a headache from the lack of sleep, an upset stomach from the stale sandwich and shakes all over that made her look as though she was sitting on a block of ice.

"I didn't sleep very well without you," she said with as much of a smile as she could manage. Gene opened his mouth to give some sort of sarcastic response but found her quite suddenly beside him, her arms around his neck. He was surprised by her speedy reaction but wasn't going to turn her away. He closed his eyes as he held her, her warmth soothing his own troubled mind.

"What's this in aid of, lady B?" he demanded, "you'd better not be dripping eyeliner all down my very fashionable hospital attire."

"I thought you approved of eyeliner," Alex said cheekily but her heart wasn't really in it. She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. This wasn't the time for dwelling on the visions and the bad dreams. Gene needed her that day. Whatever happened when he put his feet to the floor he was going to need her; good or bad.

She took up her usual seat beside him. She had to admit that she felt better just for being there, she didn't like being away from Gene; it was like losing her security. Perhaps that's all it was? Being away from Gene had just gotten to her a little too much and she'd found herself anxious and worried for no reason. They were _just_ nightmares. Perhaps the visions of Kim were hallucinations brought on by lack of sleep and food? It was possible.

As she looked back at Gene she began to relax a little more. Maybe those strange images wouldn't go away but she could at least put them to one side for now, the most important part of the day was going to be Gene setting foot on the floor – and that's what she needed to focus on.

~xXx~

"Bolly, am I hallucinating or has Batman just appeared in the doorway with more fruit?"

Robin had better places to be. He had more important things to be doing with his time. There were 101 things that he should have been getting underway but he couldn't get rid of the memory of his dream the night before. He couldn't stand it. It was driving him crazy and he just needed to get out of his office and be with a friend. Since Simon was not only still in his bad books but also nowhere to be found that really only left Alex, and as she was by Gene's bedside he supposed that's where _he_ had to go. He didn't want to turn up empty handed. Gene would not be pleased.

"I thought I'd bring you some fruit you didn't need any implements to peel," he said, remembering Gene's rant from the day before.

Gene turned to Alex in horror.

"Please tell me Batman has not brought me a bunch of bananas," he begged.

Robin scowled and threw them onto the bed.

"_It's not a bloody come-on,"_ he cried.

"And besides," Gene continued, "didn't we establish yesterday that fruit is _not_ welcome at the bedside of the Gene Genie?" he began to count things off on his fingers; "hamburgers. Bacon sandwiches. Big trays of chips from the chippy. Those are me treats of choice."

"You can have bananas and like it or lump it," Robin said as he leaned against the wall, arms folded.

Gene looked at the dark circles under his eyes.

"Either you misaimed with the eyeliner or you didn't get enough kip last night," he said.

Robin shuffled uncomfortably. He liked to be reminded neither of the eyeliner or the nightmares.

"The latter," he mumbled.

Alex looked at him, slightly in alarm.

"Are you alright, Robin?" she asked.

Robin nodded, not really wishing to meet anyone's stare.

"Fine, just tired," he said.

Alex bit her lip as a shudder passed down her spine. She suspected that she wasn't the only one who'd been suffering at the hands of nightmares the previous night. But she didn't want to talk about that in front of Gene so she decided to ask him later.

"Can we just recap here," Gene began counting on his fingers again as his stomach growled, "hamburgers, bacon sandwiches, chips. These are foods that would be wholly welcome. Even from an eyeliner-wearing tosspot who's got more than a banana in his pocket for Metal Mickey.

"Can _we_ just recap here," Robin began sarcastically, copying Gene as he counted off on his fingers "Bananas, eyeliner and any aspect of my love live – there are subjects that are wholly _un_welcome for discussion."

Gene raised an eyebrow.

"Finally someone who answers me back," he said, impressed, "this one might actually be worth keeping."

"Oh. _Everybody's_ here." Simon stood in the doorway. His arrival made everyone turn around in surprise. No one was expecting to see him there, _sans crocodile_, with a small brown bag in his hand.

"About time, Shoebury," Gene said crossly.

Simon's heart sank. After Robin's plea to persuade him to visit from the day before he had expected Gene to at least be pleased to see him. Instead it seemed all he wanted was someone new to annoy.

"I can go if you want," he said, half-hoping fruitlessly for an apology and half-hoping that Gene might say yes so that he would be excused without the guilt.

"Depends what's in that bag," Gene said nosily.

Simon walked towards him and sat the bag on the bed.

"Grapes," he said.

The look of horror and disappointment on Gene's face was almost as bad as the day Alex had faded and gone back to 2011.

"_More fruit?"_ he growled, "more sodding _fruit?_ Do I look like I want to run a bloody fruit and veg stall in me golden years?" he barely paused for breath, "because I've got enough of the stuff to open one now."

"What _should_ I have brought then?" cried Simon, "a three-course meal?

"Allow me to go through the list of acceptable food stuffs," Gene began but Alex silenced him with a hand up.

"I think we've heard this enough times already," she said.

"Shoebury hasn't heard it yet."

"Robin can give him a full run-down of the list later," Alex told him.

"I can?" Robin pouted, "_Great,_ that's something to look forward to."

Gene tossed the bag of grapes into his pile of fruit.

"Let's pretend the bunch o'bollocks didn't just happen," he said, "where have you been, Shoebury?"

"I've been busy," Simon said quietly.

"Too busy to stick yer head for five minutes?" Gene asked, feeling more upset than he wanted to let on that Simon hadn't been to see him for days.

"I've been busy with CID," Simon lied.

Gene stared at him.

"Well, that's not what I've hard," he said.

Simon froze, then his eyes turned to Robin.

"What have you been saying?" he demanded.

Robin had no idea.

"I haven't said anything," he protested.

"Your friend Eddie came to visit me," Gene told Simon, "He brought me a big bloody chocolate bar. None of this, natural _fruity goodness_ crap. Wondered where you were. Apparently he thought you were absent from the office because you were visiting me." He noted Simon looking down, a little ashamed. "I hear Batman's been doing the double." Simon's eyes turned to Robin, almost accusingly as Robin looked down, uncomfortably. "Running the doggy do-gooder department and stepping in to help CID keep going."

Simon turned to Robin for a moment with a frown.

"Good old Robin to the rescue," he said a little bitterly.

"Simon, that's unfair," Alex said crossly.

"So how's the food been in here?" Robin asked loudly, trying to change the subject away from both Simon's lack of presence at work and his own _apparent_ moment of glory, but as soon as he'd spoken he realised he'd picked the worst possible topic as Gene's stare confirmed. He shuffled and looked down as Gene said,

"Fabulous. The height of nouvelle cuisine. You can tell how much I'm enjoying me lot by the fact I've dropped two stone. My admiration for the food is so great that I've been boxing up me meals to put on display at the Tate instead of eating them."

"Sorry," Robin mumbled.

"I've been putting in requests for certain foods," he said pointedly, "but somehow all I end up with is more stuff that's fallen off a tree."

"At least you're getting your five a day," Robin tried to be helpful

Gene glanced at Alex.

"Even at our peak we never managed five a day," he frowned.

Alex felt her cheeks burning up.

"Fruit and vegetables, Gene," she said, looking mortified, "you're supposed to have five portions a day. The campaign will be everywhere soon."

"I preferred me earlier assumption," said Gene.

"Right, that's it," Simon spun on his heels, "I'm going."

"Sit down, Shoebury."

Simon frowned and flinched. He hated _Sit Down Shoebury_. But this time he at least had an excuse.

"There are no chairs," he said.

"Then stand up Shoebury," said Gene.

"I've got work to do," Simon said awkwardly.

"Yeah, a week's worth of it by the sounds of it," Gene said crossly.

"Then let me go and bloody do it," Simon said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

Gene looked away.

"The, uh, the doctors," he began, sighing as he spoke, "they're going to come in a minute. See if I'm ready to prop up the bar yet. You could stick around."

Simon looked down and felt his guts churn. The last thing he felt he could face was watching Gene attempting to stand, especially if it didn't work out. He felt a throbbing in his head. He could literally feel where his own head injury had been, even though he had no sign of it in Gene's world. That was one of the strange parts about skipping from one world to another, he realised. Often your injuries did not come with you. In Gene's world his head was whole and in perfect condition, as though the server had never crushed his skull. But Gene would be stuck with those injuries for life.

He took a step back and leaned against the wall, staring at the floor.

"Fine," he mumbled.

"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Gene mumbled. He eyed Simon's appearance. "Yer jacket's looking a bit worse for wear."

Simon looked up in horror. Where the bloody hell had that come from?

"There's nothing wrong with my jacket!" he cried.

"You've got to admit there's not much right with it either," said Gene.

"You chastised me for being the only one who didn't showed up in your bloody world wearing a leather jacket!" Simon cried, "so I got one and all you've done since then is pick on me for it. For a year and a half!"

"A year and a quarter," Gene corrected.

"Pedantic arse," mumbled Simon.

"_Simon!"_ Robin cried.

Gene ignored it, he had more words of wisdom for Simon.

"You must have bought a cheap knock off," he said, "look, leather's all wearing away. It's not exactly a Sam Tyler jacket, is it"

"Oh, bloody Sam Tyler _again_," cried Simon, "that's what everything comes down to with you, isn't it? That I'm no Sam Tyler?"

"Simon, where's _this_ come from?" cried Robin.

"He's always done this!" Simon accused, "like I wasn't feeling miserable enough, I'd barely been here a month and it started, how I couldn't pull off the jacket or the haircut…"

"Why were you getting the jacket and the haircut anyway?" asked Robin.

"Because he picked on my jumper and my _old_ haircut!" Simon cried, pointing accusingly at Gene.

"If you hate Sam Tyler so much then why were you trying to model yourself on him?" Robin couldn't work out what was going on.

"Because I just wanted him to stop picking on me!" cried Simon. He was getting overwrought. Robin had rarely seen him like it and tried hard to change the subject. He thought to himself for a few moments, then hit upon the ideal topic, since it was the only one Gene had cared about all morning.

"Guv, listen, I'm sorry about the fruit," he said, pulling a face slightly, "I should have learned my lesson when _I_ was in hospital. I ended up with more _tree-droppings_ than I knew what to do with.

"Tree-droppings?" Gene raised an eyebrow. He liked that one. He'd have to remember it for future use.

"I'll offer you a deal," Robin continued, "If you stop slagging off my canine division I'll bring you a pizza."

Gene considered.

"How long would I have to stop pointing out their _miniscule flaws_ for?" he asked.

"For good."

"No sale, Mister Stringer."

Simon looked at Gene in horror. How could he have said that? How could he have labelled Robin with that nickname in front of him? His mouth fell open, so horrified by the moment that he was struck dumb. He could speak. All he could do was see in his mind's eye a vision of Kim and Robin walking down the aisle, with Kim in a tux and Robin in a dress, going overboard on the eyeliner. He felt nauseous and started to literally shake with anger and jealousy. The image might have only been in his imagination but he knew whose ring Robin was wearing now and he knew who – ultimately – he'd have given anything to be with right then. And it wasn't Simon.

Just as the imagery in his mind reached catastrophic proportions and ended with Kim scooping Robin into her arms and flying off into the sunset like some sort of over-tattooed superhero, Gene's barked words brought him out of his horrified haze.

_"Oi, Shoebury,"_ he began, "gets a bit bloody boring sitting on me backside and I'm noticing a severe lack of reading material. Where's me magazines?"

Simon swallowed.

"I didn't know I was supposed to bring any," he said quietly.

"Magazines and hamburgers. Not too much to ask is it?"

"It is when you never said that's what you wanted!" Simon snapped crossly, his anger rising to an even higher level.

Alex could see the fury raging in his mind and tried to cool things with a distraction.

"I remember when Molly was only about… ooh, seven or eight," she began, "I was in hospital, I'd picked up a leg injury chasing a suspect over a fence… Evan gave her ten pounds and told her to buy me some magazines; she came back with three editions of the TV Times and Evan's copy of _What Beard?_ She kept the change for herself and bought a Lego set."

"You see, Shoebury," Gene began pointedly, "_some people's_ offspring actually want to provide their sick and injured loved ones with quality reading material."

"Gene, she brought me _What Beard?"_ Alex reminded him, "That's not quality reading material."

But Simon was still stewing over Gene's jibe.

"Well I'm sorry I'm such a bloody disappointment!" he cried, "but since neither of us even knew I was your son until two months ago I'm sure you can excuse me for not keeping up to date with your reading habits!"

He could hardly breathe now, the anger was choking him inside. He looked from one to another, every one of them pissing him off beyond comprehension; every one of them bringing him agony inside as he realised how empty and shitty the fragments of his life had before.

Robin watched him panting. He saw his eyes widen as his head felt like it might explode.

"Simon, are you alright?" he asked quietly. Simon didn't respond. His eyes seemed fixed on something Robin couldn't see as his panting increased. "Simon?" he took a step forward, "Si, you're worrying me?"

There was one beat and then Simon's eyes turned to him. They were spitting with anger.

_"Si?"_ he repeated, "what makes you think you can use that name any more?"

Robin drew back.

"What?"

"You're the only person who's ever called me that," Simon trembled as he spoke, "the only person I ever _let_ call me that. Because you loved me. I _thought_."

"I-I _did,"_ Robin's expression was full of shock, "I mean, I'll always care…"

"Just not enough to wear my ring, right?"

"Simon, I think that's enough," Alex said worriedly.

"_Is_ it?" cried Simon, spinning from one side to the other, "I'll tell you what's _'enough'._ The shit I've taken since I got here. My whole fucking life has fallen apart. And I've had 'enough' of it."

"Shoebury, shut your –"

"I'm not even a fucking _Shoebury!" _Simon screamed, his eyes filled with a devastating anguish none of them had seen before, "I've got nothing in my life except for tranquilizers and alcohol and a jumper that makes small children run a mile." He could barely breathe now. "I'm such a fucking disappointment to all of you," he looked at Alex, "Maybe that _perfect daughter_ you love so much could give me some advice on how to be the perfect _son_, eh? Oh yeah, that's right, I forgot – you abandoned your own flesh and blood just because _he –" _he jabbed his thumb in the direction of Gene, "- lets you spend half your working day emailing him pictures of your privates –"

"_Simon!"_ Alex cried in horror.

"Oh come _on_, we all know you do it," Simon spat angrily.

"You take every word of that back," Gene hissed, fixing him in a furious glare.

"Or what? You'll disown me? Cut me out of your will?" Simon spat, "Oh yeah, I forgot, I'm not _in_ it because you didn't know how accurately you'd fired off your bloody cannon into some _soft southerner's wife_, did you? And even if you _had_ I'd never have made it into your will because I must be the biggest disappointment of your _life!"_ Tears of anger streamed own his face. "How much does it distress you to know your son is gay? Hmm? How much does it pain you to know that your son and heir is a limp-wristed, shit-stabbing _shirt-lifter?"_

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to calm your tits and apologise to every person in this room before I come over there and kick your nerdy arse," Gene threatened, "legs or no legs."

"Because that's where all this Sam Tyler crap comes in, isn't it?" Simon's arms flailed, "I remembered reading in Keats's files about your '_unusual'_ relationship with the man. You thought I was insinuating something bloody sexual, but it wasn't, was it? You saw Sam like a son for all those years."

Gene felt himself freeze as Simon touched on something he'd never even said but had always been at the back of his mind.

"I was his DCI –"

"You held his bloody hand and gave him all the tough love in the world to settle him into this place," Simon snapped, "it was all in the files. He was the son you never had. And then when you found out you actually _had_ a son – and he turned out to be _me_ – your disappointment was written all over your face."

"Now I _know_ you're talking shit," Gene growled, "I have _never_ been disappointed in you." he found himself blurting something approaching praise without realising it but Simon was too far gone to hear.

"You even prefer _him_ to me," he pointed to Robin, "You'd barely met him and you were buying in bottles of brandy and having private conversations."

"I owe the man for looking after Drake when she was on the other side," Gene hissed, "if it wasn't for him and Stringer… I crap bricks worrying about where she'd be now. They took her in and helped her back. A bottle of brandy doesn't even begin to cover it."

"But turning a blind eye to _her_ shagging _his_ other half," he pointed to Alex then to Robin again, "_does_, I suppose."

"You, stay _out_ of that," Robin warned him angrily.

"Oh right, I forgot," Simon's livid eyes turned to him, "because you and Kim are _oh so modern _and open minded, right? _You_ go around looking like some… dog-obsessed Russell Brand –"

"_OI –"_

"While _she_ wears the trousers – _and_ your _shirts_ - and gets it on with the nearest thing with breasts."

Alex's fury grew.

"Simon, you need to get out of this room while you can still walk," she hissed as she shook furiously.

"Well I'm _sorry_," Simon screamed, turning to them all in turn. "I'm _sorry_ I'm not Molly and I'm _sorry_ I'm not Kim and I'm _sorry_ I'm not _Sam bloody Tyler!"_ The entire room fell silent as his screams ended and he panted furiously for oxygen; three shocked faces staring at him as his lost, desperate eyes stared vacantly beyond them. "Well," he whispered, his voice suddenly low and measured as his anger struck a peak that made him physically shake from head to toe, "Let's see if I can get _one_ of those right, at least."

With a pace that started as a trot and turned into a dash within a few steps Simon fled the room leaving three shocked and anxious faces to watch. None of them could comprehend what had just happened. None of them could understand how Simon had hit such a terrible low.

Robin was the first to speak. He was also the first to realize.

"He wouldn't -" the fear gripped him so hard it felt like someone choking him around the heart. "Oh fuck, _no_, Simon -"

"What?" whispered Alex but in the same instant she realised too. Her eyes turned upward as though she could see the roof, "Oh god, he… he wouldn't do it, _would _he?"

As the same realisation struck Gene he turned to Robin, gripped with a kind of fear he had never felt before in his life.

"Stop him," he demanded but Robin had already begun his journey out of the door. He didn't need telling. Simon's welfare was built into every inch of his body. He had no choice but to care. He always would do.

As they watched him race after Simon, Alex and Gene reached automatically for one another's hand; a terrible darkness filling their senses. All they could do was to sit, wait and pray that Robin made it to Simon in time. Seventeen months of agony had built up on top of him and crushed his heart, his soul and his fight.

Only Robin could stop his body from fading away into nothing too.


	42. Chapter 41: Over the Edge

**Chapter 41**

He'd been on that roof before. It pained him to admit it and pained him to remember. How else would he have known the way up? It had been a day he'd never forgotten, as much as he'd longed to; that fateful day chasing Keats to the roof after he'd fired a bullet into Alex's head. He remembered every moment of that day – the fist-fight with Gene in the middle of _Latte Land,_ the plan, Keats's tape in Kim's hospital room and then the part he just couldn't bear to think about. One minute he'd been in a tussle with Keats and the evil monster had thrown him over the edge; the next he'd pulled him back and they'd been a whisker away from some sort of _kiss_.

Just one of many _hundreds_ of errors of judgement Simon had made during his time in Gene's world.

He stood close enough to the edge that he could see the road below without being close enough that he might fall by accident. If he was going to do this it was going to be a very deliberate choice.

"I thought you were afraid of heights."

Simon turned his head around quickly to see Robin standing behind him, some distance away. He didn't want to look at him. It wasn't like there was anything Robin could say to make him change his mind.

"I'm afraid of _falling_," he said, his voice all but devoid of emotion, "when you're already planning to go over the side it makes the phobia kind of a moot point."

"You wouldn't really do it thought," Robin seemed very certain of that.

"I'm thinking about it," Simon said quietly. Robin only caught those words as the breeze carried them in his direction.

"The Simon _I_ know wouldn't even be _thinking_ about it," Robin told him.

"Then I guess you don't know me any more, do you?"

Robin swallowed and tried to keep his nerve. _Shit_, he could have really done with Kim's expertise round about then. She'd covered the _talking-someone-down-from-a-roof_ technique as part of her hostage negotiation training, for dealing with suicidal suspects who can't deal with the consequences after their plans have gone wrong. In fact, she'd forced him to help her practice. For _three whole days_. He hadn't minded the first time but after the thirteenth roleplay the scenarios were getting slightly ridiculous. Talking someone down from a roof because they had seen Evan's beard was acceptable. Talking them down because they'd been caught having sex in a pub toilet and couldn't find a duvet to hide under was less so. Not to mention humiliating. God, the things they'd done behind closed doors.

"No," he said, "I don't think I do." He noticed Simon glanced behind him just little. "You've changed, Simon. But you're not the only one. We both have. That's called moving on."

"But we _haven't_ both moved on," Simon's eyes focused on the ground down below. "I stayed right where I was." He paused, "waiting for _you_." He felt his heart clench up inside of him, the pain from knowing that the one thing he wanted was the one thing he couldn't have. "You were my _whole world_, Robin."

Robin swallowed. He couldn't imagine anyone feeling a deeper sense of guilt than he felt right then. But this wasn't the time. He couldn't dwell on his own feelings, he had to help Simon and that was not going to be an easy task.

"No one should be _anyone's_ whole world, Simon," he said, "If you think that then you've lost sight of too many things."

Robin's words meant nothing to Simon.

"Oh yeah?" he gave a bitter laugh, "like what? Being surrounded by the dead and the dying? Looking at someone and getting this… _horrible_ sense of how they lost their life? Holding someone's head and feeling that awful, sick sensation of sending them on to some other place? Or being stuck with some dead-end department that nobody cares about just because they had to stick me somewhere?"

"You do something that's _so_ important," Robin shook his head, "you should feel honoured. Not resent it."

"I'm only here because _Hunt_ surrendered half his DNA to me," Simon said bitterly. He didn't look back, just kept his eyes on the tarmac way down below, "not because I've earned it. I'm a fucking joke in this place, Rob. I used to be respected back home. I used to be more than a title. I made a difference. I put away the people who were a threat to the city. Here I run around after homicidal toasters and people who like to shove their privates in floppy disk drives." He finally turned his head a little and could see Robin out of the corner of his eye. "You see? I'm just a fucking joke here. Nothing's ever going to change."

"You were brought here to do a job" Robin told him, "don't you remember what we spoke about the other day in the car? When we were looking for Gene?" he paused. "That we'd had it all wrong. It wasn't me that dragged _you_ to ninety five. It was the other way around. You'd been here before, Simon. This world knew you. It knew what you could do. It knew what you had in your heart. It knew what you could do here and it _needed_ you. It knew that you were strong."

"It was wrong then, wasn't it?" Simon said, turning back to the roof's edge.

Robin closed his eyes and gave a deep, anxious sigh. He didn't know what he was doing. He felt like he was out of his depth and he couldn't remember ever feeling so scared. It didn't matter whether they were together or not, Simon had been a part of Robin's like for a decade and a half and the thought of losing him terrified him beyond belief.

"Talk to me?" he begged.

"What's the use?" Simon shook his head, "it won't change anything. I could talk until I'm blue in the face. You'll still want to be with _her_. My job will still be a fucking joke. My family still won't be a part of my life any more. I'll still have no friends and no one there for me -"

"That's not true."

"- except you," Simon did at least acknowledge that Robin still cared, "But you don't understand… it hurts too much to see you. I'd rather if you shut yourself out of my life completely.

"You don't mean that," Robin said.

"How do _you_ know what I mean?"

Robin hesitated,

"Well, I _hope _you don't mean it," he said quietly, "because that would break my heart."

Simon gave a bitter laugh.

_"Break your heart?"_ he cried, "_you're_ the one with Kim's ring on your finger, Robin." He stared down at his own hands. He was still wearing his ring; the one he'd given Robin on his final night in '95, just a short time before he faded and awoke in the real world. What the hell was the matter with him? Why couldn't he let go?

"Simon, things happened and we were pulled apart," Robin told him, "but that doesn't mean I stopped loving you or caring about you. I always have done and I always will."

"But you're not _in_ love with me," Simon turned around and stared at Robin with dead eyes, "are you?" he watched Robins eyes turn downward. It was the only answer he needed. "Yeah. Already knew that."

"We were apart a long time," Robin told him, "Yes, I met someone else. You told me you wanted me to. You told me you wanted me to be happy. And I know that you feel like you made a mistake but what's done is done, and now you need to let yourself move on too."

"I don't even know how to _do_ that!" cried Simon, "you've been _everything_ to me."

"You're strong enough to move on," Robin told him, "you're strong enough to start again."

"That's easy for you to say," Simon cried. He found himself staring at Robin with angry eyes. "Was it always a lie, Robin?"

Robin looked back blankly.

"What?"

"Was I _ever_ 'the strong one'? Or was that just what you wanted me to think?"

Robin looked at him anxiously,

"Simon, you were _always_ the strong one," he said quietly.

"Doesn't look it now," Simon said bitterly, "_look_ at you – look at what you became without me there. You never needed me in the first place."

"Nothing could be further from the truth."

"You always could stand on your own two feet, Rob. You were just humouring me. Never need protecting. Never needed looking after."

"I wasn't as strong back then, Simon," Robin pushed the hair out of his eye as the breeze blew it into his face, "I came here and I confronted my past. I stopped being a victim and I grew stronger."

"Then why have _I_ gone in _reverse?"_ cried Simon.

Robin bit his lip. He looked at Simon sincerely.

"You don't _have_ to be the strong one," he said quietly, "you just have to know the difference between asking for help and giving up hope."

"I already have given up," Simon said quietly. He took a step closer to the edge and Robin yelled out as his heart leapt into his throat.

"_Simon, for fuck's sake!"_ he cried, "would you _really do_ that to everyone who cares about you?"

"That's a very short list, Robin," Simon said crossly, "I can't think of anyone _on_ that list, in fact."

"You know full well I'm on it," Robin told him, "And don't give me any bullshit about not believing me, you know I wouldn't be up here _now_ if I wasn't." he paused as he saw Simon hang his head a little. "What about Gene? You're supposed to be his best friend."

"All he does is insult me and pick on me, the _whole time_," Simon shook his head.

"Have you not seen the way he talks to Alex?" cried Robin, "the way she talks back to him? That's the way he expresses –" he couldn't think of the right word. It wasn't affection. He wasn't sure what else to use in its place though, "it's how he shows he's fond of you. It's his _way._ You can _see_ that. He's not going to go round giving big bear hugs and slapping you on the back and crying '_I love you, Simon,'_ is he? It's like the playground bully that picks on the one they fancy."

"Great, now you've turned it into incest."

"Oh Simon, just shut up and listen to what I'm trying to tell you," cried Robin, "if you go over that edge _so_ many people are going to get hurt by it. Me. Gene. Alex... she's always looked out for you. When me and Kim were giving her a home, when she needed our help, she always spoke so fondly of you. And fuck it, you'll probably go over the edge just from hearing her name but Kim _really_ cared for you, Simon." He noticed Simon turned his head slightly back in his direction. "Stop thinking of her as the one who stole me away from you and start remembering her as your best friend, the one you shared all those drunken karaoke nights with and who you spent Christmas day annoying the fuck out of Gene and Alex with. She told me all about it; the time you two were flatmates, the friendship you had. If you think I was the only one cut up with guilt about betraying you when we got together then think again. She cares about you so much, Si. She always worried about how you coped after she went home. You were probably the best friend she ever had."

Simon looked back at him. There was a part of him that wanted to believe what Robin was saying but there was a bigger part that was full of anger and anguish and he just _couldn't_.

"I _waited_ for you, Robin."

Robin wasn't sure if he'd hard his words correctly.

"What?"

"A whole year I waited for you," Simon turned around properly and looked him in the eye, "longer than that. I was so lonely here without you. I thought that one day we'd be together again. I waited for you all that time and then I find it was a one-way street." He paused. "You'd moved on."

Robin stared at Simon. He bit his lip as a note of anger crept into his voice.

"You didn't wait for me the whole time though," he said quietly, "_did_ you, Simon?" he swallowed and felt sickness rushing up in his throat. Even the _thought_ of it made him retch. He wasn't sure how he held it back. "You couldn't have me so you went for the next best thing."

Simon stared back. It took him a few moments to realise Robin was talking about Keats and when he did bile and nausea of his own approached.

"_Jesus_," he closed his eyes and turned his face upwards. He couldn't believe that was coming back to haunt him again. "That was the biggest fucking mistake of my life." But even as he spoke he shuddered and relived the moment on that very roof, just over a year ago. It hadn't exactly been an isolated incident with Keats. There had been something therefore it, as their moment on the roof confirmed. He hated himself for that. Now that he knew about the genetic connection with Robin it made a little more sense to him, he could understand that perhaps he felt an attraction to Keats because he reminded him of Robin on a physical level at least, even if what was on the inside couldn't be more different. But it still cut him up to think of it, or to admit that he still felt a shiver when he thought about their rooftop _moment_, or the fact that somewhere deep down he knew he still felt something of an attraction to Keats. For as much as he hated him, he couldn't shake that.

"You made a mistake. Everyone does that, Simon. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"_You_ were the one who brought that up!"

"To make a _point!"_ cried Robin, "you keep making out that you made the big sacrifice, waiting for me, being all alone, for all that time But I would never have begrudged you being with someone if it made you happy. And I know you had no way of knowing that…. I couldn't exactly send you a message in the same way Kim brought your letter to me." He hung his head a little. "But I would have wanted you to be happy…. It's you who wasn't ready."

Simon stared at him.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"You don't want to move on," Robin said quietly, "do you?"

Simon stated at him.

"No, he whispered, "I don't."

"You have the opportunity to start again and met someone," said Robin, "to be really happy. How many people get that second chance to start their life again?"

"Judging by this place? Plenty," cried Simon.

"But most of them don't know it!" Robin reminded him," they're already dead. They have no memory of what they had before. You do, Simon. You know you're starting again. That gives you the freedom to do whatever you want, that gives you the chance to look for the happiness that you deserve."

"But I'll only ever be happy with _you!"_ cried Simon as hot, angry tears began to stream down his face, "so what's the point of going on? If I can't be with you then –"

He turned around and began to approach the edge again. He'd made up his mind and Robin had said nothing to change that. He couldn't. No one could. It was too late for Simon now. He had nothing and he had no one, he needed to end it.

"You're right."

He paused as he came to the ridge around the edge of the roof. As he heard Robin speak. He glanced back behind him at the expression on Robin's face but it suddenly seemed unreadable.

"What?" Simon asked.

Robin shrugged,

"You're right. There is no point going on."

"Great, reverse psychology," Simon spat, "picked that up from Alex. did you? useful houseguest she turned out to be."

"No," Robin shrugged, "I wasn't talking about you." he swallowed. "I was talking about me."

Simon stared at him. He tilted his head with a frown as Robin's words ceased to make sense to him.

"You?" he repeated, "what do you mean, _you?"_

Robin swallowed again. Simon could see he was shaking now; his expression looked blank, as though all his emotions had drained away.

"You were right," he whispered, "if you can't be with the one you love then…" he flinched and drew in his breath. "What's the point of me sticking around?" he asked bitterly, "this fucking world took me away from _my_ new life. It ripped me away from Kim, and according to gene the likelihood of her being able to come back here, to this station, is minimal to non-existent. She can't. She'd have aged too much for coming back so soon. So I'd either have to be without her for the next, what, ten years? Twenty years? And then find she's long since moved on and doesn't need me any more… or…"

Simon swallowed nervously as he watched Robin shaking his head.

"Or what?" he whispered.

Robin looked at him with determination on his face.

"If I can't be with Kim then I just don't want to be here any more," he said, "I don't want to exist, it's too painful." He took a deep breath. "I was going to wait for her, Simon. I'd have waited as long as it took but you're right. She'll move on and I'll still be stuck like this, exactly how I am today, a decade or more from now. She won't want me anyway." He took a deep breath. "I might as well do this sooner rather than later."

He gathered up his strength and his courage, took one more deep breath and began to run forward, getting closer to the edge of the roof with every pace. His expression was dark and deadly, his intentions clearly defined in his mind as Simon stared on in horror.

"What, No!" he cried, "Rob, you can't be fucking –"

But Robin was dead set on carrying out his objective and focused on the path ahead. He kept his eyes on the side of the roof and just kept on running, aiming just right to put one foot on the ridge when he suddenly found himself knocked sideways by a flying Simon who launched himself at Robin and tackled him to the ground where he landed on him hard, rolling him over and pushing him further away from the edge. All Robin could see was rotating tarmac as he found himself spun over and over and all he could feel was pain from the hard ground beneath him and the heavy man pinning him there.

"Jesus, Robin what the _fuck_ are you _doing?"_ Simon cried angrily into his face.

Robin coughed and choked as he tried to get his bearings.

"Shit, you winded me," he gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

"You'd have been more than winded if you'd done what you _wanted_ to!" cried Simon, _"shit_, Rob, what the _fuck?_ How could you have _done_ that to me? How could you have done that to _Kim?_ You're supposed to be in _love_ with the woman and you give up that easily? She could come back here any time and find you've just given up on life."

Robin coughed again and shoved Simon to one side, slowly pushing himself up on his elbows to return painfully to a sitting position.

"I think you cracked my ribs," he flinched.

"You'd have broken every bone in your body!" cried Simon, "I just can't believe you would _do_ that to Kim."

Robin stared at him. He looked him right in the eye, seeing the shock and the anger that Simon felt towards him, then as calmly as he could he whispered,

"You see?"

Simon panted for breath, the fear of watching Robin running for the edge still pounding as a wild and flailing heartbeat in his chest.

"_What?"_ he hissed.

Robin's heart was racing. The fear of the risk he'd taken had only just started to hit him. _Desperate times_ and all that nonsense, but still he couldn't believe the extreme action that he'd had to take.

"You see what you were threatening to do?" he whispered, with Simon's face just inches away and his expression caught dead between shock and distress, "how that made me feel? That you were going to take your own life and leave us all without you?" he stared at Simon waiting for a reaction but he was still too shocked. "Me, Gene, Alex… what about that _Eddie?_ Jake and Marci look up to you. There's that pizza delivery guy you've been playing pizza box battleships with. All the crew you used to do karaoke with. Simon, just because these are not romantic relationships, doesn't mean…" he paused and winced, "fuck, my _ribs_… when did you get so heavy?" he rubbed his chest and took as deep a breath as his ribcage would allow, "it doesn't mean that we don't all care about you." he paused and looked at him very sincerely. "Some of us more than others." He felt a tear starting to slip down his cheek. He'd tried to stop it but the shock of his own actions combined with the knowledge that he'd come so close to losing someone who he cared for so much was truly starting to sting. "We might not be together but I still love you, Simon," he whispered, "and I won't lose you." he looked him in the eye. "I'm not going to let you give up. You've got too much to live for. And I promise I'll be by your side while you realise that for yourself. But you have to let me help you. You have to _want_ me to."

Simon stared at Robin, his breath fast and shallow as he tried to regain control of his emotions.

"You didn't really want… you… you weren't really going to -" he swallowed and closed his eyes as he realised just how desperate an attempt Robin had taken to show Simon exactly what he was doing. He started at the man who wouldn't give up on him, no matter what he'd said or what he'd done and he felt all his fears and all his pain beginning to finally look for an exit.

"I mean it, Simon," Robin told him, "you've come too far to give up. I'm not going to _let_ you. Because whatever we are to each other I'll always love you." he looked at him seriously. "Please let me help you, Simon?"

Simon stared as Robin slowly opened his arms. His initial reaction was to back away but he couldn't. All the pain and the tears began to flow and as he tried to choke back a violent sob he found himself drawn into the open arms of the one man that he truly trusted, the one he'd trust with his life.

That bond really was still there. Their relationship might have been over but the connection would never die. Simon had never been more thankful for that.

**~xXx~**

_**A/N: OK. I'll just be sobbing in a corner, I'm having an attack of character cruelty guilt over here! I just want to say thank you so much to everyone reading and especially those who have reviewed, I appreciate your support so much. I'm way behind on PMs and emails but will be catching up soon to say a proper thank you. This fic has ended up going on a bit longer than I anticipated thanks to aaaaaangst, I was planning to be writing the end today :D but there are still a few chapters left.**_

_**80's Babe; me and the croc are thinking of you today. I know you're having issues logging in but I'm going to send you something later on that you can pick up whenever FFnet behaves x**_


	43. Chapter 42: Pulled Back

_**A/N: Please forgive any crapness in this chapter. Having a really horrible day and a migraine I can't get rid of x**_

**~xXx~**

**Chapter 42**

Something strange had happened to Simon. As he sat on the ridge at the edge of the roof with his legs dangling over the side, Robin sitting beside him, he realised he was no longer afraid of heights. When had that happened? Was it threatening to jump that had killed the fear? Or had it happened much sooner? Maybe the last time he'd been up on that roof and almost been thrown over the side had cured him of his phobia. He still had the scars to remind him of that.

"That was a dirty bloody trick, you know," He told Robin with a scowl.

Robin stared down at the car park, kicking his legs slightly like a kid on a swing.

"What?" he asked.

"Saying you were going to jump," Simon told him, "actually, you did more than _say_ it."

"I'm sorry," Robin gave a tiny, sheepish smile, "you wouldn't listen. I had to _show_ you what you were doing."

"You did that." Simon looked down. He thought in silence for a few moments. "What would you have done if I hadn't pushed you away from the edge?"

"Probably gone over," Robin said almost as a question, not quite sure. He closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, I would. I would have gone over. I had too much speed up to stop myself.

"You could have killed yourself to prove a point," Simon wasn't sure whether he was angry or touched about that.

"I trusted you," Robin turned to him, "I knew you wouldn't let me do it."

Simon closed his eyes.

_"Shit," _he breathed. How much faith must he have had in Simon to save his life? He wasn't sure even he had realised Robin trusted him that deeply, not even when they were together. He looked at him. "And you didn't let _me_ do it, either."

"I just couldn't take such a physical approach," Robin commented rubbing his sore ribs, "you were too far away. I'd have knocked you over the side instead."

Simon gave a weak smile. He stared out into the sky.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Robin reached out and laid his hand over Simon's

"I don't want you to be sorry, I want you to get better," he told him quietly.

"I'm not sick," Simon looked down.

"No," Robin sighed, "but you're not functioning well." He paused. "You need help, Simon."

Simon watched the trees in the distance blowing in the steady wind.

"You mean a shrink?" he asked. "My last visit to a therapist wasn't a raving success," he reminded Robin.

"That was different," Robin said gently, "no one's feeding back reports to Keats now."

"We hope," Simon sighed.

Robin brushed his hair out of his eye.

"We'll find someone you're really comfortable with. Someone you can talk to," he promised, "I'll help you. We'll keep looking until we find the right one. I think Alex knows someone. We'll see if we can get her number."

"I'm not comfortable with the idea of this," Simon said awkwardly.

"There's no shame in it," Robin promised him, "you've been through so much, Si. You just need some help to come to terms with how much your life has changed."

"And how do I explain the '_and then I died'_ parts to the therapist, hmm?" Simon asked. He sighed as he shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe."

They turned to one another at last and Robin saw the deep sadness in Simon's eyes.

"You need to begin moving forward," he said quietly, "you've been stuck in a rut since you arrived here and things have been getting worse and worse." His brow creased as he whispered, "I know I added to that. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Simon."

Simon shook his head

"You only did what I told you to do, he admitted, "And whatever it may seem like to you I really did want you to be happy." He gave a troubled sigh. "And Kim, too. Everything you said is true, Rob. She was my best friend here. I've missed her so much since she left." He looked at Robin, remembering the times they'd shared. "she was never a very happy person. She, uh," he rubbed his forehead as he recalled Kim's days in 1995, "She always seemed so troubled. A lot of that was to do with being here. Struggling to adjust. And of course all the stuff with Keats, but…" he looked down. "There was more to it than that. There was something very sad about her soul."

Robin nodded slowly.

She had a lot of problems when she went home too," he said quietly, "for such a long time. It's not an exaggeration, Simon, she really couldn't feel anything. Not for years. She went into a loveless marriage because she couldn't feel enough to know the difference." He looked terribly sad as he recalled, "stuff came out during Evan's trial. We were both called as witnesses. It turns out she spent years on anti-depressants, tranquilisers… her family threatened to have her sectioned at one point because she was so troubled when she left this place."

"The only time I ever saw her happy was with Shaz," Simon told him and saw Robin bristle little. "Well," he said quietly, "I saw her happy _one_ other time…" he looked down, the truth so hard to bear, "I once had a vision of the two of you together." He noticed that Robin looked away uncomfortably, "I'd never seen her look so alive." He looked at him seriously. "Nor you."

Robin glanced back. He bit down on his lip, almost not daring to believe that he'd heard right.

"I've tried to make her happy," he whispered.

"You didn't need to try_,"_ Simon admitted, "you just _did."_ He breathed in as deeply as he ever had and let his breath out slowly. "She was like my little sister, Rob. I wanted to protect her. Just wanted the best for her." He hesitated. "And I really wanted her to go home and meet someone who made her happy. I can't think of anyone I'd rather her fall in love with than someone like you."

Robin looked at him in surprise.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

Simon hesitated.

"No," he whispered, "not with someone _like_ you. With _you."_

Robin hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected anything of the sort.

"You –" he wanted to ask Simon if he meant it but there was a look of sincerity on his face that Robin didn't dare question. "Thank you," he said quietly, "that means a lot. It means more than you'll know."

Simon nodded to himself as he stared down into the car park.

"You made each other happy," It was half a statement and half a question.

Robin nodded. He wasn't sure whether carryon on the conversation was a good idea or not. But Simon seemed more stable than he'd seen him since the moment he arrived.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "we really did."

Simon kicked his heel against the hard concrete of the ledge they sat upon. He looked down despondently as he said,

"I'm so envious of you, Rob. I don't mean I'm jealous about Kim. Although," he finally admitted out loud, "I _am_. I mean, of how you pulled your life together."

"Almost didn't," Robin said quietly. He wondered if he was a hypocrite, stopping Simon from taking his life when he'd come so close to doing the same thing.

"But you _did,"_ Simon reminded him, "Look what happened after I died. You got yourself a promotion, met someone, got engaged, almost had a family."

"You forgot the part where I had to harbour a missing person and time-travelling loon." He saw Simon look at him in confusion. _"Alex," _he explained.

Simon smiled a little.

"Maybe that's where I'm going wrong," he said, "I need to start helping people who have run away from Evan."

Robin looked at him with a hint of sadness.

"Si, there was no magic answer," he said quietly, "if you expect me to give you the magic word to help you move on… It's not something you can force, it just happens. But there's a difference between waiting for it to happen and _stopping_ yourself from moving forward."

"You think that's what I've been doing?" Simon asked quietly. He already knew the answer before Robin nodded. He didn't want to move on, he just wanted to be back with Robin and for things to go back to how they used to be. "So where do I go from here?" he whispered.

"You've got to start living your life for _yourself_ again, Simon," Robin urged him, "you have to make _yourself_ happy now."

"I'm not sure I remember how," Simon said quietly.

Robin thought for a moment.

"You say you're not happy with your work," he began.

Simon looked down.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been complaining," he said quietly, knowing how frustrated Robin was with the poorly assembled canine division.

Robin just shook his head.

"If you're not happy, do something about it. Talk to Gene. Tell him you need things to change. Tell him the department isn't simulating you enough."

"No, it's those arseholes sticking their bits and pieces into family PCs who were getting stimulated," Simon mumbled.

"Maybe _Gene_ can do something," Robin told him, "perhaps there's another department that would suit you better. Maybe there's another post you'd be better suited at. Or perhaps the description of the hi-tech crimes department needs to change to involve crimes where you don't have to deal with electrical appliances committing the seven deadly sins."

"Maybe," Simon didn't sound terribly sure about that.

"Or," Robin continued, "find ways to start enjoying the work you _are_ doing more. Don't just sit there waiting for the next report of killer toasters. Why don't you take matters into your own hands. Begin some initiatives. Toaster amnesty. Appliance/Human sex awareness. That sort of thing." He paused as he watched Simon nod, thinking about it. "But," he continued "work's only on part of life. Don't get up swallowed up whole by it."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

Robin stared at him, his expression a mix between sympathy and sadness.

"I want you to be happy, Simon," Robin told him, "_really_ happy, I want you to meet someone." he saw Simon look away. "I want you to fall in love. To make you smile again."

Simon glanced at him.

"I'd never meet anyone who makes me feel the way that you did," he said.

"_That's_ the mindset you need to get _out_ of," Robin told him.

"Where am _I_ ever going to meet someone anyway?" Simon sighed.

"You'll meet someone."

"Where?"

Robin hesitated.

"What about that club Shaz goes to?" he still couldn't quite say her name without scowling, "you've been looking for a new place to go since _Bask_ closed. I'm sure you'd meet someone there."

"Not really my type that go there though, are they?" Simon asked, "can't see me fitting in with my work tie and jumper."

"Borrow something out my fucking wardrobe then!" Robin began to get frustrated, "you were the one who pointed out it looked like it belonged to some wannabe boy-band reject."

That finally raised a tiny smile.

"Don't think it would fit," he said quietly.

"So go and buy your own!"

Simon sighed.

"I'm not sure it's really my kind of place."

"I'd never have thought a _karaoke _bar was you kind of place either," Robin pointed out.

Simon gave a distant smile. He missed _Bask_.

"I'm still not sure," he sighed, "besides, can you really see me going out '_on the pull'?"_

"You'll meet someone, Simon," Robin promised him, "it doesn't have to be at a club. "What about Jake?"

"What about him?"

"He was asking those questions about us," Robin reminded him, "I thought I caught him staring the other day."

Simon shook his head.

"I'm not just going to go out with someone for the sake of it," he said quietly, "I don't really know him that well. I don't even know if he's interested in men, women or giraffes."

"Probably not the latter," said Robin, "although he _is_ fairly tall..." He saw Simon finally give a little smile and that made Robin smile back.

"And anyway," Simon began, "I'm not sure relationships are a very good idea."

"Oh, don't give me that bollocks, like you don't believe in love suddenly."

"I mean _here_," said Simon, "_this_ place. I don't think it's very easy to have a relationship."

Robin frowned.

"Haven't Alex and Gene been together for like, ten years?" he asked.

"Eleven," Simon corrected, "and that's what I mean… they work because they're on an even footing, they know the score. How could I start a relationship with someone who doesn't know what the world is like? _Mister Universe Nineteen Ninety Seven_ could sign up tomorrow and we could go out and gave the best date of our lives and then at some point I'm going to get this horrible vision slamming into my head of him with a knife sticking out his stomach or a dishwasher falling on his head. How could I start a relationship with someone I knew was dead and have to hide it from them?"

"What about the people who are just… _here_?" Robin asked, "wasn't that what happened with Kim and Shaz? She was just here already?"

Simon shrugged a little.

"Maybe," he said quietly, "but it's still a big secret to keep."

Robin nodded slowly.

"I suppose so, he said, "sorry, Si."

"If I met someone," Simon began, "it would either have to be someone _really_ special that I would have to hide all the stuff about this place from, or it would have to be someone who knew. Someone on the same level as us." He looked down, "and you're not interested." He let out his breath in a sigh. "Which would only leave Keats, to be honest."

"Don't even _mention_ that name," Robin's skin started to crawl. He found himself eying Simon worriedly. He _had_ meant that as a joke, hadn't he?

"And anyway, this is all academic because no one's going to want to be with me anyway." Simon drew his legs back onto the ledge and turned around so they were dangling down on the other side, the _safe_ side. The _roof._

"What are you talking about?" frowned Robin.

"Look at me," Simon held out his arms, "look at the _state_ of me. Being up here…" he closed his eyes and trailed off for a moment, "being up here reminds me of -" he trailed off. He didn't want o mention Keats for a second time. He'd seen Robin's reaction before. Instead he slowly pulled his shirt out of his trousers and lifted it up high enough for Robin to see a proper glimpse of the scars Simon had been left with from the tussle. He drew in a sharp intake of breath and turned his head away, flinching at the sight. "You see? Even _you_ won't look at me," Simon cried in horror.

"It's not that," Robin breathed deeply to calm himself down, "it's…" he flinched again. "Come on, Si. You know what he did to me. I've got them all over the bloody same place as you. Except mine are deeper; thinner. More precise. Bloody knife." He closed his eyes. "And I felt just as low as you. Until Kim helped me, tattooed all over or around them. Now that's all I see."

Simon looked at him

"What _is_ with the tattoos, Rob?" he asked, still unable to get his head around it, "you'd never had any interest in them before."

"I've learned never to say never since you died," Robin said quietly, "life's too short."

"What the hell made you want to get one?" Simon asked, "was it just because of Kim or…"

"Partly because of Kim but not in the way you think, "Robin told him. He closed his eyes as he recalled a different roof, a different time. "We were trying to help Alex get home. Me, Kim, Kelly. It all ended up in a big fucking showbiz showdown on the roof of Keats's flat."

"The falcon building?" Simon whispered.

Robin nodded.

"Layton… well, he had a tattoo. Kim caught a glimpse of it. He was all crazy, I don't know if he'd taken something or… _needed_ to take soothing… she started talking to him about tattoos, as dumb as it sounds. Then she pushed back her sleeve and showed the one she had on her arm. The meeting of two words, it meant." He sighed, "and the fact that she survived. I was… _inspired_, I suppose. Until then I always thought tattoos were some dumb fashion thing. That's when I realised. It's about more than that. Strength. Your story. Who you are on the inside." He drew up his knees to his chest and scooted around so that he was facing the same way as Simon. "I'd been on a very long, hard journey by that point. After Alex went home, me and Kim… we'd bonded through the crazy situation we'd been through. I asked her some things. I suppose I must have sounded like a twat. I even asked the classic." He saw Simon frown_. "'Does it hurt?'"_ he explained.

Simon gave him a thin smile.

"And did it?"

Robin bit his lip.

"It wasn't like normal pain," he said quietly. That was the only way he could describe it.

"It can't have been that bad since you're covered in them now," Simon pointed out,

"I only have four," said Robin.

"Yeah, and one of those is practically your entire stomach and rib cage," Simon pointed out.

Robin looked down with a tiny smile on his face.

"Like I said… she did that for me," he whispered, "to stop me from hating myself. My scars."

"And the," Simon quoted himself_, "stupid eyebrow thing?"_

Robin bit his lip and pretended he wasn't smiling at the memory.

"Well, that was just a… a very weird night," he said, his voice almost shaking, "Kim had just finished all the tattooing on my chest. Then she let me tattoo her."

"She did what?" for some reason that was the single thing that shocked Simon the most.

"I don't think I did it very well," Robin cringed, "she was in less pain than that when she cracked her ribs."

"W-what did you tattoo on her?" Simon couldn't wrap his head around it. "Oh, not the _Red Dwarf_ logo, she'd have killed you."

"No," frowned Robin, annoyed with Simon for sullying a good story, "I tattooed _nineteen ninety five_ upon her." he shook his head. "It was weird and intense and I just … Kim had all these piercings and it was such an important part of who she was… I wanted to know what it was like."

"Do you regret it?" Simon asked.

Robin shook his head.

"I regret stopping at one," he said, blushing slightly, "I kind of wish I'd got my lip done too." He saw Simon staring in horror, waiting for him to pretend it was a joke but it wasn't. "But I'd never let anyone but Kim do it," he said quietly, "fuck's sake, knowing my luck Geoff would be training as a piercer and I'd be his first victim." He saw Simon staring at him. "You're going to ask me about the eyeliner next, aren't you?"

Simon closed his eyes and gave a wry smile.

"I've asked enough questions," he said.

"Well just in case," Robin gave a shrug, "it was something I did one time… we actually pretended I was borrowing Kim's make-up to cover up for the fact that wed been kissing when Alex noticed my lips were somewhat… _redder_ than usual." He shrugged, "and I liked it."

"Kim was wearing _lipstick?"_ Simon shook his head in shock. "I really did have you two pegged all wrong. She only does that when she's _really_ in love."

Robin smiled distantly.

"I know you wish I was still the same person that left here seventeen months ago," Robin told him, "but I can't be. I've been through to many things that changed me. "

"So did I," Simon said quietly, "but not in positive ways,."

"Si, you just need to let go," Robin said quietly, "and live your own life again. "

Simon hung his head and stared at his shadow on the ground.

"We became poles apart, didn't we?" he said quietly, "While you were falling in love I was falling flat on my face outside of _Bask_, pissed out of my head. While you were busy settling into your promotion, the highlight of my new job was getting a lockable filing cabinet. While you were covering your body in works of art, I was covering mine with love-handles."

"Oh stop. Simon, you're not getting fat. Ignore Gene, he just wants to get a rise out of you."

Simon knew it was more than just a Gene thing. All his trousers had been getting tighter and a small paunch protruded through his shirts these days. He shook his head, disgusted with how he had changed.

"_You_ were the one who accused me of cracking your ribs," Simon pointed out.

"Don't remind me," Robin flinched, "I'm seriously thinking about going to hospital."

Simon spread his arms.

"_Ta-daa,"_ he said in a singsong voice.

A genuine moment of relaxed humour passed between them. Robin felt like an idiot for forgetting where they actually were and tried to change the subject.

"if you're that bothered then why don't you try going to the gym with me?" he suggested.

"Can you rally see me joining a gym?" Simon raised an eyebrow.

"Could you have seen _me_ joining one?" Robin countered.

Simon gave a tiny smile.

"Nope," he admitted, "but then, that's you all over, isn't it?" he paused. "doing the unexpected." He paused. "And looking good on it, too."

Robin shuffled uncomfortably, unsure whether Simon was trying it on again. He didn't seem to be this time. Robin still didn't know how to take the compliment though.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

There was a blundering cashing sound that scared the living daylights out of both of them and they scrambled to their feet in time to see Gene lumbering awkwardly out of the roof door, one leg working considerably better than the other, being held up by both sticks and Alex.

"Gene?"

Simon wasn't entirely sure he was really seeing what e appeared to be; a staggering Gene who was weaving worse than he usually would after ten pints and a whiskey chaser, still in his hospital smock, oozing humiliation from every pore. He certainly didn't look best pleased.

"Shoebury, I am going to kick seven shades of shit out of you for this."

Simon looked at him in alarm.

"What?

"Just spent ten minutes staring out the window watching for a Shoebury splat zone!" Gene said furiously.

Simon looked down at his feet. Now that a little time had passed since Robin's shock tactics had given him the hardest kick to the backside he'd ever received in his life he felt utterly horrified at what he'd been about to do. While the desperate depression and the reasons behind his crazed reactions were still there he now felt a crushing sense of guilt for the mess –figurative rather than literal – that he would have left behind.

"Gene, I'm sorry," he said.

"So you bloody should be," Gene yelled, "where would we have got a coffin that flat? Would have had to get one specially made. And you'd have put me off pizza for life." His expression grew very dark as he looked Simon right in the eye. "And," he said seriously "if you'd… if we'd…"

Simon nodded slowly. He didn't need Gene to try to fish that sentence.

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry. Shit, sorry is so meaningless, but I really am…"

"You're _walking_ –" Robin was the first to make the obvious observation. Simon had been so overwhelmed by everything that he hadn't even realised at first.

"Shit, you _are,"_ he cried.

"Some twat with a toaster-phobia was threatening to chuck himself off the roof," cried Gene, "it wasn't really helping with me bedrest."

"You can really walk?" Simon stared in shock, "and you climbed all those stairs? For _me?"_

"Bloody hundreds of them," Gene told him, but Alex was there with a sigh and a shake of the head.

"No; there was a wheelchair and a lift and then _one_ very small flight of stairs," she said with a scowl, "which _I_ carried him up." She paused, "_somehow_."

"But you're standing now?" Simon stared at him, "I mean, you took a step, I saw."

Gene nodded soberly.

"Think me legs might be starting to listen to me for once."

"Thank _god,"_ Simon closed his eyes for a moment. While Gene clearly had a very long way to go and a promising start didn't necessarily mean he would recover much more of his scope of movement it was a start and more than they'd had an hour before. Gene's health was one of the things that had really brought Simon to his knees.

He looked back over the side of the roof, thinking once again how strange it was to no longer feel that swelling fear that usually came with heights. In fact, he started to realise, heights were not the only thing that he was feeling less afraid of.

He realised that a big part of his reluctance to let go and move on was his fear of the future; a future without Robin by his side. He was starting to see now that, although they may not have been a couple any longer, he was never going to lose him as a friend. He knew he'd hit his lowest low and it was going to take a very long time to rebuild his life, but he no longer felt as afraid of doing so.

He would get there. Gene's world really was about starting afresh and taking a chance on a new life. Thanks to Robin, Simon still had all of that ahead of him.


	44. Chapter 43: Quality Literature

**Chapter 43**

The silence had been broken on the way back to Gene's room only by the squeak that one wheel of the wheelchair was letting out. Gene felt as though his mind had switched off. After he'd seen that Simon was safe and sound for himself and stood back to watch Robin slowly lead him back inside to safety it felt a little as though Gene had broken down inside.

He didn't say a word on the way back down in the lift or along the hospital corridors. It was only when Alex pulled to a halt beside his bed he muttered.

"I could have bloody wheeled meself, I feel like a sodding duty free trolley."

"And the time to say that is now instead of when I was lumbering down the corridor with your squeaky wheel and running over my own toe?" Alex commented with her hands on her hips.

She carefully helped Gene back into his bed but he seemed not to need it for the most part. Watching him stand for a moment brought tears to her eyes, a gesture that Gene was not going to let go without comment.

"Oh do me a favour, Bolly. If you're gonna be weeping like a holy bloody statue every time I stand on me own two feet we're going to have to put some serious sand bags in place."

Alex smiled at him, her heart bursting a little like the day Molly took her first steps.

"Sorry, guv," she said quietly with a smile, hoping the '_guv'_ might at least placate him a little. She would still use that name every now and then. Gene always liked hearing it and it still felt right for Alex to use it.

As Gene organised his legs a little better, quietly thanked them for their co-operation and pulled up his sheets to mask the embarrassment of the smock Alex leaned over him and left a firm and forceful kiss on his lips. He wasn't expecting that out of the blue and looked a little shocked.

"Not that I'll ever dismiss yer lips at _any_ time of the day but what was that for?" He asked.

Alex gave a tiny smile.

"Nothing," she said, _"everything." _She shrugged and sat back down by his side. It had been a hell of a day; in fact, a hell of a last _couple_ of days, her head was in a spin from her visions the previous night, Simon's breakdown and Gene's legs beginning to co-operate again. She wasn't sure how to calm her emotions. From the look of Gene _he_ wasn't sure either. Now that he was settled again and the fraught moments had passed his face became troubled, he looked at Alex and his expression dissolved.

"Fuck me, Bols, he was going to do it."

Alex swallowed and nodded slowly. It was just starting to hit her too.

"But he didn't," she reminded him firmly.

"But he would have done."

"Robin was there," she told him.

"He's _always_ bloody there," Gene rubbed his forehead. It felt like Robin was forever bailing out his nearest and dearest. "Does he have a team of clones that go around saving the planet? It feels like he's bloody _everywhere."_

"He's not omnipotent, Gene," Alex sighed.

"I'm sure Stringer would agree with that."

"Omnipotent, not impotent! As you well know." Alex sighed. She thought about the sight of Simon and Robin on the roof and the relief they'd both felt to find Simon sitting there instead of standing on the edge. After he and Robin had left the room they'd spent ten terrifying minutes waiting, listening, holding their breath. Alex had stared out of the window watching for him, the most terrifying wait they'd ever had. Eventually a doctor had come past and Gene had demanded a wheelchair. He couldn't stand the thought of sitting around and waiting for news any longer.

He'd confided to Alex along the way that his legs might have been trying to get back into the swing of things. He had experimentally stood beside his bed the day before and although he couldn't take a step he was able to move one slightly and to hold his weight with only a little support from the bed. Simon's threat of suicide had given him the push he needed to take it all the way.

"I had a dream last night," Alex whispered before she could stop herself. She had to stare at the wall while she spoke. She couldn't face the thought of looking into Gene's eyes. "A nightmare. I didn't get a lot of sleep after that. And it was strange, because I actually dreamed…" she paused and swallowed, "I dreamed about someone on a roof. Going over. Taking their life. It wasn't Simon though."

Gene frowned.

"You dreamed about human splat zones?"

Alex closed her eyes.

"It wasn't the nicest dream I've ever had," she said quietly, "I saw it very clearly. They were standing there, just staring out. And then…" she paused and swallowed. "they just jumped. And I've never seen anyone act with such purpose in their life."

Gene stared.

"Shoebury?" he asked.

"I just said it wasn't Simon," Alex whispered.

"Who was it then?"

Alex flinched.

"Didn't see," she lied.

"You can't be sure it wasn't Shoebury then, can you?"

Alex shook her head.

"It wasn't him, Gene. They were smaller. Different hair colour. Different clothes." _Breasts, _she added silently.

"No wonder you looked like _Night of the Living Drake_ this morning," Gene told her.

Alex wasn't sure how she felt about having a zombie movie created about her.

"Thank you very much for the boost of confidence," she said.

There were low, tired footsteps coming their way and both turned to see an exhausted Robin standing at the doorway. He leaned against the post as though every drop of energy had been drained from his body.

"I'm taking Simon home now," he said quietly, "he's in the car. He's going to stay with me for a few days,. I though you should know."

Alex gave Robin a slightly crooked smile.

"You did an amazing thing today," she told him quietly.

"Maybe I'd believe you if I wasn't responsible for half of it," Robin said quietly.

"Robin, you can't blame yourself," Alex told him quietly, "Simon had been troubled since he arrived. While he's certainly struggled more with the idea of living without you he's been heading down a destructive path for a very long time."

"None of us stopped him though," Gene's voice was low and steady," did we?"

"No one knew he was going to do that,"Alex told him.

"We should have seen the signs."

"Sometimes they're not that easy to see," Alex told him.

"Simon is good at covering up," Robin said quietly, "all the stuff he went through when he came home from eighty five… he covered up for weeks." He shook his head. "But I still wish I'd seen how low he was getting," he shuffled a little uncomfortably at the doorway,. "Listen, I've got to get down to Simon. I just wanted to ask a favour."

"Name yer price, Batman."

"Of AIex."

"Oh," Gene hesitated, "then name yer price to her."

Robin stepped forward.

"Simon's going to need some help," he said a little reluctantly, "_professional_ help. I thought maybe you' know someone…?"

"I do actually," Alex nodded slowly, "I can drop her number round later for you."

"Thank you," Robin nodded gratefully. He gave them both a nervous wave then turned and walked slowly back to the door before Gene called,

"Robin."

Robin hadn't been expecting the use of his real name. He turned around nervously.

"Yes?" he asked.

Gene breathed out with a loud sigh.

"If you hadn't –" he paused. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Didn't matter how many years had passed he still struggled with the whole _emotion_ thing. He shook his head, "I'll just say there's always going to be a bottle of brandy tucked away in me filing cabinet for you."

Robin hesitated. He understood what Gene was trying to say.

"I'm just grateful he's still here," he said quietly.

"Makes two of us," Gene said soberly.

Robin nodded and gave them a slightly awkward smile before he left. The silence that fell was a little uncomfortable and Alex got slowly to her feet.

"I think I should head out for a moment," she said with a slightly anxious smile. Leaving Gene's bedside hadn't done her any favours the last time, after all.

"Thought you were going to glue yerself to me arm today?" Gene said slightly accusingly.

"I want to find that number for Robin," she said quietly, "and besides, you know what the doctors told you. Now you're on your feet you can wear your own clothes."

"Bed clothes," Gene reminded her crossly. "I don't have a pair of pyjamas to me name."

"Yes you do," said Alex as Gene stared at her blankly. "Don't you remember? Last year? the fancy dress night at _Bask_?" she paused. "You went as one of the Bananas in Pyjamas." She saw Gene wince a little at the memory.

"No idea what you're talking about, woman," he lied.

"You used those face paints and couldn't wash them off," she reminded him, "you looked like an extra from The Simpsons for two weeks."

"Yes, alright, thanks for the trip down memory lane," Gene mumbled.

Alex smiled.

"I'll just get the pyjamas," she said, "and buy a few things . The cupboards are bare."

"You go within twenty feet of the fruit and veg section and I'll shove pears where the sun doesn't shine," Gene threatened.

"That would be a shame," said Alex, "since I was thinking of paying a visit to McDonalds on my way back."

"All previous threats of pears are now officially revoked," Gene told her.

Alex smiled.

"Thank you," she said.

~xXx~

Simon stared dead-ahead out of the windscreen as the door opened and Robin parked his backside in the driver's seat.

"Alex is going to give us the number later," he said, "I'll take you back to mine," he noticed Simon's expression. "Are you OK?"

Simon didn't move.

"Was I really going to do it?" he whispered.

Robin glanced down. He bit his lip and nodded.

"I think so," he whispered.

Simon closed his eyes.

"_Shit,"_ he whispered, "how did I get this low?"

Robin shook his head slowly.

"Don't think about that," he said quietly, "just think about how you're going to get strong again,." He looked at him seriously, "because you _will_. And I'll help you."

Simon looked down. He wasn't sure he deserved Robin's help. He'd been so spiteful, so nasty, every time the subject of Kim had come up he'd said the most god-awful things. He hadn't really meant them; his anger and his jealousy had run away with him. He was amazed that Robin was prepared to stand by his side, but after all the times he'd been there for him in the past he shouldn't have been so surprised.

"I will," he said quietly, he saw Robin glance at him curiously and turned to face him, "get strong," he explained, "I promise."

Robin gave him a tiny smile.

"I know you will," he said. He started the car and looked at him. "Come on," he said, "we'll pick up some of your things and go back to mine." He saw Simon looking a little nervous. "You can raid my wardrobe. Anything that looks like it's been within seven mils of a boyband is automatically yours; deal?"

Simon closed his eyes and gave a nervous laugh.

"No deal," he argued.

"Well someone's got to have them," said Robin, "otherwise they'll just go to the moths."

"Looks like you're going to have a whole flock of very fashionable moths then," said Simon.

Robin gave a genuine smile as he pulled out of the car park and began to drive away. The day had been horrid and torturous and Simon had been on the journey to hell and back but this felt like a new start, for Simon, for their friendship, for the future. Perhaps Simon would never have Robin back as a lover but he was slowly gaining a best friend instead. That was something to cling onto.

~xXx~

Alex backed out from the wardrobe with a dusty box and sneezed.

"This had better be the right one," she mumbled as she opened it and watched a spider scuttle out from inside. Lying on the top were a few old shirts of Gene's, an apron with _Fuck Off, I'm Barbecuing_ embroidered on the front and finally a pair of blue and white striped pyjamas. She suspected that Gene was going to hate them every bit as much as the hospital gown but hopefully he'd only have to wear them for a few days and then would be allowed to start wearing some proper clothes. That was a relief. She realised that seeing Gene constantly in hospital dress had been really wearing her down, a constant reminder of the serious condition he'd been in. That, coupled with seeing him actually take his weight and managing a step or two, had helped to ease a little of the anxiety that had been attacking her.

Packing the shirts back in the box she pushed it into the wardrobe, closed the door and got to her feet. Despite her strange and traumatic night she felt a little safer being on home territory now. She supposed that might have been because she knew that she was on a countdown now to the days when Gene would be re-joining her. He still had a way to go but he'd soon be back where he belonged, both in his own home and behind his desk. Hopefully if he continued to make progress he wouldn't be stuck behind that desk forever, either. She silently made a wish that his progress would continue as she folded the pyjamas and took them downstairs.

She left them on the kitchen table and raided the fridge for a few Gene-friendly snacks. Anything that vaguely resembled fruit or had a fruit-related flavour was out. She had paid a visit to the supermarket on the way home and bought enough essentials to allow her to replenish both the kitchen cupboards and her strength. The stale sandwich had taught her a lesson about at _least_ having a loaf on standby. She suspected that now she felt a little more settled about Gene's progress that she might be willing to leave his side a little more and return home every now and then so food was a necessity.

Her own lunch was sitting on the side. She couldn't be bothered making something so she had picked up a pasty on the way home. Gene had reacted very strangely when she'd said she was going to buy one and made comments about checking their finances to see if they could afford it. She'd decided to humour him and then make a fast exit.

Normally she wasn't much of a pasty girl but she just needed something stodgy and junky. _Comfort food_. Funny how the relief of seeing Gene on his feet had spurred her appetite to return. She could feel her stomach preparing to release a cacophony of empty growls and decided the pasty had to disappear sooner rather than later so she took her plate through to the lounge, sank onto the couch and flicked on the TV.

The news played away as she bit into her pasty, sending a shower of pasty crumbs into her cleavage. She swore and manically swept at them but managed to send most of them further down her clothing instead. Crossly she set her pasty back on the plate, got to her feet and flapped them out of her top. She began to see why pasties were usually not her food of choice. She sat back down and pulled the plate back onto her lap. Gene would have a fit, she thought to herself. Eating a pasty on a plate was like blasphemy to Gene. They should have been eaten straight from the packaging.

She stared vacantly at the TV, caring less for the news than she did for Gene's stripy pyjamas. She sighed as she took another bite of her pasty. She couldn't shake the thought that they should have spotted the signs sooner. As a psychologist she was especially angry with herself. She had gone into guilt mode. She knew Simon was low, she just didn't realise he was _that_ low.

It wasn't the first time she had blamed herself for someone ending up on a roof, as she noted a little crossly. She remembered all those months she spent going over and over her notes on Sam Tyler; listening to his tapes, trying to work out how she could have missed his suicidal tendencies. There was a reason for that. It was because he hadn't had any. He had never wanted to end his life – he wanted to get it back.

She couldn't believe her mind was going over _that_ subject again.

"For goodness sake, Alex," she scolded herself, "stop stressing about Simon, stop stressing about roofs and stop stressing about Sam bloody _Tyler."_

"…_Sam Tyler."_

With a fizz of static the TV echoed her words. She froze, her eyes instantly turning to the screen while the rest of her body remained perfectly still.

"_What?"_ she breathed.

The picture was still fizzing and jumping a little as though picking up a pirate broadcast as a newsreader looked seriously into the camera.

"_The unfinished draft was discovered by her godfather; acclaimed beard model Evan White, while sorting through her belongings on early release from prison."_

A cold sensation dropped like nightfall over Alex's shoulders and filtered right through her body down to her toes. It felt as though her heart stopped dead in her chest as the words filled her with anxiety…

"Oh, _no,"_ she whispered.

"_DI Drake died earlier this year while attempting to trace escaped prisoner Arthur Layton,"_ the newsreader continued, "_Mister White had felt that the unpublished book was 'too fascinating to be forgotten' and approached his publishers about a posthumous release."_

An image of Evan appeared on the screen, looking fairly dapper with a substantial amount of beard regrowth on his chin. The caption below no longer mentioned his long-dead legal career; now describing instead him as _Beard Model and Novelist._ Alex wasn't sure about the second part of that. Actually, if she was honest, she wasn't sure about the first part either.

"_My goddaughter worked tirelessly on this book in the year leading up to her coma,"_ Evan's words sparked anger in Alex. Yes, _her coma_ – the coma that Layton caused because Evan refused to tell her the truth. "_Her death has been… devastating." Alex_ couldn't tell if the tear he wiped away was genuine or forced. "_When I found the intact draft I read it almost completely in one sitting. The subject matter is fascinating; the landscape that the human mind can create when it is under pressure, the characters that are born from our deep subconscious. Sam Tyler's family have been very supportive and the book will be released jointly in both their honours."_

"Oh, you snivelling little…" Alex found herself growing angrier by the second.

"_Although the story of Sam's coma hallucinations is complete the book still needed further work,"_ Evan continued, "_my publishers entrusted me to complete the draft. The closing chapters of the book will concentrate on Alex's own life and her struggle to recover after experiencing her own long-term, deep coma."_

Alex's blood boiled over. Now he was using _her life_ to cash in? She shook with fury as the newsreader came back on the screen.

"_Evan White is a published writer in his own right,"_ she continued, _"his two autobiographies became best-sellers shortly after their release and his first novel, 'Fifty Shades of Beard', led to riots when stocks of the book were depleted within hours of its launch."_

Alex blanched and put her pasty to one side. Suddenly she had lost her appetite quite severely.

"_Mister White has attempted to persuade a close friend of DI Drake to provide a foreword and conclusion to the book,"_ the newsreader continued. Alex found herself frozen and staring at the screen. She couldn't imagine who the newsreader meant. _"Detective Chief Inspector Kim Stringer –"_

"_DCI?"_ Alex repeated in a whisper a she felt her heart jump and her stomach flutter. When had _that_ happened?

"_- had assisted DI Drake in tracing Layton on two occasions. Drake was living with DCI Stringer and her now deceased partner at the time of her death."_

Alex felt herself sliding to the floor on her knees. Her hands began to shake as she moved slowly towards the screen.

"Oh god, _no_, leave Kim alone," she whispered. She recalled how deeply affected Kim and Robin had been by Evan's trial. The thought of him pursuing her over such a thing filled her with fury.

"_But DCI Stringer has been deeply outspoken about the release of the book,"_ the newsreader continued, a sentence that drew a little gasp from Alex, "_claiming that its release is disrespectful to both Drake and to DCI Tyler, claiming that some things are best left buried and that their tragic deaths should not be a matter for publication._

"_That book belonged to Alex."_

Suddenly Alex lost the feeling in most of her body as the face of Kim appeared on the screen, looking more than a little reluctant to be approached by the cameras. Her skin was pale, even paler than usual. It accentuated the dark circles beneath her dull, bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks looked sunken, as though she was almost fading away.

"_It was her work and the release and publication of it should not be down to anybody else. She has lost control of the words that she has written and Evan White has stolen control. The book, if it is released, will not tell the story of either Sam Tyler's coma nor Alex Drake's life. It will tell the story of Evan's quest to line his pockets."_

"Oh Kim, _yes_," Alex whispered, a tiny sparkle of delight in her eyes. She moved slowly closer to the screen, trembling. Every word she heard made her pulse rise a little faster. Kim was expressing everything that scared Alex so deeply.

"_To trust this man with the telling of the story is like trusting DI March with a cardboard cut-out of a known drug dealer and a pair of scissors."_ She paused. _"Sooner or later it's going to end up full of holes and buggered."_

Despite herself Alex gave a tiny laugh as Kim's personality showed through, however low and empty she had become.

"_She has warned that the matter of Tyler's comatose dreams is a private subject and not one that should be released to the public,"_ the newsreader came back on the screen, "and that despite writing the book Alex Drake's own coma experience had brought her to that conclusion."

"You're not wrong," she whispered.

"_DCI Stringer reportedly found herself at a disciplinary hearing after giving Mister White what was described as 'a wedgie of catastrophic proportions' at a press gathering for the announcement of the book's imminent release. We have footage of the incident coming up for you now."_

Some grainy CCTV footage played of Kim launching the wedgie attack on an unsuspecting Evan, leading to half the gathered press rolling around with laughter on the floor and the other half swooning about his underwear.

"_The incident sparked a new genre of beardfics and a therapy session for the angry DCI,"_ the newsreader concluded, "Evan's faith in the book remains unfazed and its release is scheduled for June two thousand and thirteen. DCI Stringer, however, has promised to fight its release until the bitter end."

Alex felt a shiver travel down her cheek, almost as though a ghostly finger had traced a line from her eye, where a tear was falling, down the side of her face. She closed her eyes and slowly leaned forward where she rested her head gently against the television screen and laid her palm out flat.

"_Thank you, Kim,"_ she whispered, surprised by how much her voice trembled, "_thank_ you…. please, _keep_ fighting this… please don't let him do it."

She felt a heaviness in her chest as she thought about the half-finished draft that she had long forgotten lay amongst her things. She would never have written the book if she'd known and certainly never have released it when she had found out the truth about Gene's world. Putting that out in the public domain would be dangerous. The idea that coppers up and down the country would know about Gene's world shook her to the core. Who knew what effect that would have? Who knew how much damage that would do?

She felt a lump in her throat as the TV fizzed and spluttered and whatever connection existed to 2012 was lost. She begged and prayed silently for Kim to succeed and felt eternally grateful that there was somebody on the other side looking out for her and for the rest of that world.

But after what she had seen in her dream the night before… She couldn't say for how much longer that was going to be true.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: I'm so sorry for the crapness this week. I've finally shaken the migraine that's been going on and on. Hopefully that means I can actually catch up with some stuff. x**_


	45. Chapter 44: Ready To Question

**Chapter 44**

Gene growled with frustration as he awkwardly lumbered through the doorway. He had Alex helping him on one side, a walking stick on the other, and all three of them got jammed in the doorframe until Alex tried going through first to help him from inside.

"So where's me welcome home party?" Gene demanded, waiting for someone to spring up from behind the sofa.

"There will be plenty of time for partying," Alex told him, "for today, just let me keep you all to myself."

It had been two weeks since the day that Simon stood on the roof; two weeks since Gene had taken those first few steps. It hadn't just been a cliché about the road being long and painful as he worked his way back to health. Every day he'd sworn and shouted and insulted his way through his physical therapy, desperate to feel normal again.

Two weeks of hearing "_Oi, Bedpan," _had led the doctors to finally agree to discharge him early. None of them liked being called _Bedpan_, neither did they like Gene's tone-deaf rendition of _Bananas in Pyjamas_ that he sang repeatedly with the sole intention of getting the hell out of that place. They also did not like Gene's fun new game of using his fruit mountain as ammunition for target practice. By the time he'd turned his door into a fruit smoothie for the thirteenth time they decided enough as enough and finally sent him home.

Over the last two weeks a lot had happened. Gene's waking was slowly improving although he felt frustrated that he still needed so much support. He felt reassured that leaving hospital and being able to practice his walking would lead eventually to making big improvements. He still felt highly confused by his coma experience. There were so many unanswered questions. He had a feeling he would need to try to be patient and the answers would start to reveal themselves with time. He also suffered some quite unnerving memory gaps. The doctors had assured him that this was to be expected after such an injury but it was still not something he coped very well with.

Simon was still staying with Robin. He was going through a long, slow process of recovery of his own. In the immediate aftermath of his breakdown Robin had plied him with hot drinks and comfort food, just trying to put back a little normality into his life. That was one thing Simon had been lacking severely for a very long time. It was the next day when it really hit him. As Simon finally realised what he had almost done and how much it would have hurt those around him he broke down in tears and cried for so long that Robin didn't know what to do and almost called 999. He'd never been more grateful than he was when Simon finally fell asleep and by the time he awoke the wave of anguish that had been attacking him had started to pass and although he was still shocked by his behaviour he knew that he couldn't carry on breaking down over it. He needed to start getting strong, just like he'd promised Robin he would.

Alex had managed to pull some strings to move Simon up the waiting list for sessions with a psychologist friend of hers. He'd already had his first two sessions and despite one minor wobble when he returned home in tears because his therapist had a son called Robin he actually felt – despite his reluctance – that he just might be able to draw something positive from his therapy.

Robin had been officially moved from uniform for a limited period of time as the only suitable candidate to cover CID. While Alex was preparing to return to work once Gene was out of hospital she would still need to stay with Gene for much of the time and wouldn't be able to give work the time and dedication it needed and with Simon taking 'compassionate leave' there was no one around to cover.

"But who'll cover the canine division while I'm in CID?" he'd asked.

"Don't you worry about that," Superintendent Fletcher had told him, "we'll look after things for you."

And he _hadn't_ worried about it. He hadn't worried at all until one day when he discovered that as the only competent one on the department Shaz had been temporarily put in charge. A jealous Robin muttered his way up and down the corridors for days. Simon took heart in the fact that even Robin got jealous - even when there wasn't really anything to be jealous of.

The steaming mug that appeared on the table was a blessed sight to Gene.

"There," Alex told him, "one latte."

She'd smuggled a whole latte, in a mug, home from Latte Land especially for his return. She didn't want him to come home to paper cups; it was china or nothing.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," he told the latte.

Alex scowled, her hands on her hips.

"Apparently something is going to be getting hot and steamy around here but it isn't me," she said.

Gene looked around him as Alex sank into the couch by his side. She lifted his arm, slipped underneath it and draped it around her shoulders. She looked up at him with a tiny smile.

"I was scared this day would never come" she admitted.

"Got more important things to do with me time than sit around in that bloody hospital room playing _What Fruit_," he told her.

Alex closed her eyes for a moment as her head went over the 101 questions that had been brewing. There was so much that had gone unsaid and unasked following his coma. The hospital did not seem the place to do it so she had been patient and waited. But now here he was, home, sprawled across the couch and still in one piece, albeit with a slightly misshapen head and a lot less hair as he awaited its regrowth, and she finally had the opportunity to ask all those questions. But the first one that came to mind was not the one she had expected to ask – at least not yet.

"What was she like?

Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. Gene looked down at her with a slight frown.

"Who?" he asked.

"Her," said Alex, "_me."_ She paused and closed her eyes for a moment. They'd both avoided discussing their mutual infidelities for the most part during his hospital stay. It didn't seem the time nor the place. Bu it couldn't be avoided forever.

"What do you want me to say to you, Bols?" Gene asked, "She was _you!_ You'd know better than I would!"

"I've never met me though," Alex told him. She paused, biting her lip. "That night. The one you spent with her…"

"You continue that line of questioning and I'm fairly certain you're going to end up whopping me one," Gene said worriedly.

Alex hesitated.

"No, I _do_ want to know," she said eventually, "what was it like?"

Gene rubbed his face and groaned. He really didn't want to answer that.

"Bols, she was _you."_

"But she wasn't," Alex shook her head, "She was me before you changed me. Before your _world_ changed me." She paused and looked down. "I wasn't exactly a burning torch of passion back then."

"You were enough to light _my_ bloody fire," Gene mumbled before he could stop himself. Alex eyed him, unsure whether she was insulted or flattered. Maybe Gene was right. Maybe she was better off not knowing. But she couldn't fight her curiosity. She shook her head slightly.

"Was it… like it is with us?" she asked.

"If you mean did she wear an easter bunny costume or email me porno pictures of her privates, no she didn't."

"I mean…" Alex paused, "_in bed."_

"Drake, _stop,"_ Gene shook his head furiously, "not answering this."

"Did I at least remember what to do?" she asked, only half sarcastically, knowing her carnal treats were few and far between back then.

"You seemed to have a vague idea of where I ought to put it, yes," Gene mumbled. He sighed and cleared his throat. This was the most uncomfortable conversation he'd ever had. "Look, I'll say this once and one time only: She was you, but she _wasn't_ you. Similar packaging."

"Great, now I'm a packet of biscuits," said Alex.

"I was alone in a bloody weird world, skipping back and forth through time like Shoebury compiling a list of Red Dwarf continuity errors. She was the first familiar face I'd seen." He hung his head. "The first familiar face I hadn't sunk a bullet or a knife in."

"Sank something else into her though," Alex couldn't help pointing out.

"Was the closest thing to being back with you," he told her, "Not the same, but close. And while I was," he hesitated, "giving yer lovely former self a preview of her preferred form of exercise a few years down the line, she still wasn't you, Bolly. Not denying it wasn't a good night out for me joy department, but on the inside it sill wasn't you."

Alex hesitated.

"Were you careful?" she asked awkwardly.

"Didn't knock her out the bed," said Gene.

"You know what I mean."

Gene nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said, "I leaned me lesson there."

"Good," Alex said quietly. Gene had enough time-travelling offspring as it was. So did she, for that matter. Thoughts of their baby came to mind. They dragged her down, sank her spirits. They were doing a very good job of not thinking about that subject. It was just too painful. They both knew sooner or later they would have to confront it but right then it was still so raw.

"Were _you?"_

Alex looked at him, confused. She must have zoned right out for a while.

"What?"

"Careful? "

Alex frowned.

"When?"

"With Metal Mickey," said Gene, "I've heard what happened to Batman. Who knows how any people Stringer could end up knocking up."

"Oh _shush now,"_ Alex sighed. She looked down, a little awkwardly. "Gene, Keats knows."

Gene looked at her, not completely sure he knew what she was saying.

"Are you trying to tell me you've been providing him with a detailed itinerary of yer Sapphic adventures?" he asked

"He sees things now," Alex admitted quietly.

"Like angry fists flying towards him?"

"I'm serious!"

"So am I!"

"Gene," Alex pulled away and stared at him, "when you were attacked and we couldn't trace you we pulled him in for questioning. He'd vanished from hospital at the same time you disappeared. You can forgive us for jumping to conclusions."

"What did he say?"

"A lot of nothing," sighed Alex, "but he started to give very pointed comments about Kim… about the two of us… there was no _way_ he could have known, Gene, not unless he'd seen it for himself."

"Not possible, Drake."

"He saw you, too."

"When?"

"With her… with _me_…" Alexc closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't understand it, either. His comments made no sense at the time but now I've thought about it I understand exactly what he was saying. He was talking about his coma, the time he entered Layton's body. He started referring to it as a holiday and saying the same about you. Talked about your '_holiday romance'_." She looked down. "At the time I had no idea what he meant."

"His lips flap like a bloody hyperactive parrot," said Gene.

"But he meant what he said," Alex insisted, "you didn't hear him. This was serious. He wasn't bluffing, he knew about me and Kim, and he knew about you and… me. The _other_ me."

"You're telling me Keats has some sort of multi-channel TV in his 'ead?" asked Gene.

"I don't know _how_ he's seen it, Gene," Alex told him, "but he's different. He's… changed. There's something otherworldly about him now. It's beyond just being evil. He sees things that no one should be able to see. Like the more energy he draws from us the less human he becomes. Remember, there's four of us now. Four of us sending energy into one man. One _evil_ man."

Gene looked away. He didn't like to admit that he felt like he barely knew his world any more. Things had changed so much. People were receiving visions they never should be able to see, while objects were crossing the line between realities as though they were human beings with a bullet in the brain.

"Something's torn up the rule book. Bols," he said quietly, "I don't know what's what any more."

"We have to be careful," Alex told him, "if he can see things… look into other worlds… he'd more dangerous than ever before – and not just to us."

Gene closed his eyes for a moment.

"What if Shoebury's right?" he asked, the thought of a positive answer scaring him beyond comprehension," what if there is another place beyond here? A place Jimbo's got his telescope fixed on. What if he did see me giving another Alex a glimpse of her future fornication?"

Alex's mind went back to her own coma-in-a-coma.

"He first _arrived_ when I was comatose," she whispered.

Gene remembered Simon talking about Kim's experience.

"And he sent Stringer _into_ her coma with a bullet," he mumbled.

There was a hint of a connection there and it wasn't one they wanted to think about.

"Perhaps," Alex said quietly, "we should talk about something else now. Something that doesn't make me want to hide under a foot-thick duvet."

Gene nodded slowly and allowed Alex to snuggle up beside him. There were bigger questions at play and ones that were still unanswered but for the time being they would have to stay that way. There were certain priorities to concentrate on – getting Gene back to his full strength, healing the cracks their infidelities had brought to their relationship, helping Simon. Right there and then Keats was the least of their worries. No matter what he could see or how many worlds he watched over he would never get the better of them – nor of their peace of mind.

Alex closed her eyes as she leaned against Gene. He was back where he belonged, and that made everything right with the world again.

_**~xXx~**_

_**A/N: Please, please, please don't think I'm being rude for not being in touch to everyone I owe an email or PM to. Right now I'm having a bad patch and I'm struggling. I feel really bad that I keep saying I'm about to catch up and then I don't. PLEASE don't think I'm being rude or ignoring you (Morgana, I'm looking at you!) I really appreciate everyone who is still reading and I am so grateful for those who take the time to review. Seriously, you don't know how grateful I am for every review I receive. You really rock. At the moment writing is keeping me going, (and also kind of destroying my soul…)**_

_**There are 1 or 2 chapters left, followed by an epilogue and then a special bonus chapter on the end x x**_


	46. Chapter 45: Stay Off The Booze

**Chapter 45**

"Bolly, if there was one place I didn't want to spend me last night of freedom it's sitting in me office watching you crawl around the back of the filing cabinet," Gene told Alex, "although,. I suppose if I sit at the right angle the view could be pleasant."

Alex rolled her eyes and tried to suppress a smirk.

"I'm sorry, Gene, the papers just slid down the back when I was checking your office was ready earlier," she said, and I forgot to come back and get them out."

"I could happily have left them there," Gene grumbled.

"They might have been talking about some new procedure for fingerprinting cleavage for all you know," said Alex.

"They could have been describing new protocols for all DCIs to test out the copulation space in their stationery cupboards for all I care when I could have been enjoying the space in me bed at home." Gene shook his head.

"I'll be five minutes," Alex promised him as they walked along the corridor, closer to the dark CID office with every step.

"I could happily have waited at home," Gene told her, "could have warmed up the bed for you."

"I told you, I don't like coming into CID alone any more,"Alex protested, "not in the dark. Not when that crocodile could be anywhere."

Gene groaned as he leaned heavily on his walking stick to help him make the last few paces. It had been three weeks since he'd managed to persuade the doctors to let him leave the hospital and his return to work was looming. He'd been approved to start with a couple of days a week and make a slow transition from Robin's temporary control of CID back to Gene's. Gene had anticipated spending his last night of freedom demonstrating to Alex exactly how much movement he was regaining in his lower quarters. Skulking around a dark CID with Alex, trying to fish fallen papers from behind his fling cabinet was not part of the plan.

"This had better be a five minute excursion," Gene warned, "a man has needs that cannot be met by the metropolitan police force."

"Only a few minutes," Alex told him as they walked through the open doorway into the darkness. The moment they stepped inside, the giant checkerboard of a ceiling began to hum and spark into life and while the panels flicked on one by one a flurry of motion caught Gene by surprise as officers and detectives made a grand entrance from behind filing cabinets and under desks, yelling _,_

"_Welcome back!"_

Except for Eddie who hit his head on a desk and yelled; _"Shit!"_

Gene was visibly startled; he'd expected no such thing. When Alex had told him to put his trousers back on, put the whipped cream away and take the handcuffs _off_ her wrists he'd been more than a little annoyed. He'd been saving up a new can of the squirty stuff for just such an occasion. He hadn't been able to work out why fetching a few fallen papers was so important.

"What in the name of red wooden water-life is going on?" he demanded as his colleagues gathered around him.

"Welcome back, Guv," Terry said as he approached Gene with a stupid party hat. Gene eyed the item with the contempt it deserved.

"Booze, food, music, _fine_, but paper attire to sit on top of me misshapen bonce will go straight into the shredder," he threatened.

"We just wanted to do something nice for you," Marci told him, "to welcome you back. To show you how glad we are that you've made a full recovery."

"It's hardly that," Gene said a little awkwardly. His walking stick was like a symbol of shame to him. Lions didn't walk with canes. They held their heads up high as they strode through the jungle, not limped along with a stick. He knew what happened to lame lions. He couldn't bear the thought of his own situation reflecting it.

He already felt like only half of his previous self. His hair was far too short and didn't seem to be making a lot of progress. He felt as though his mane had been cut. He struggled sometimes with words, forgot them halfway through a sentence. It was hard to roar when he couldn't always recall how the sound was supposed to end.

But he was fighting and he was getting there. His return to work was a big part of that. It was a perfect time as well since the 1997 General Election was only a couple of weeks away and it was a case of _all hands on deck_. Quite apart from the political implications there were people going on mass-murdering sprees from having to listen to _Things Can Only Get Better_ one time too many.

He was anxious about returning to work. Not that he let anyone see it. He was still the Manc Lion. His mane would grow back, his legs would hopefully continue to listen to him a little more each day and soon he would be sitting back behind that desk with his boots up on its surface, legs crossed, surveying his kingdom.

This was what he'd fought back for.

Someone somewhere started the music. Unfortunately it happened to be _Things Can Only Get Better_ and a small riot broke out in the corner of the office.

"_Don't worry, I'm on it,"_ Simon said quickly, rushing towards the chaos with his croc, A few screams and snaps later the unrest was over and _Closer than Close_ began to play instead. There was a pop and a cork flew through the air, followed by a slightly mumbled, _"Sorry"_ from somewhere. Plastic cups of champagne found themselves thrust into Gene and Alex's hands, which Gene looked at with slight disapproval.

"You've pulled out all the stops," he said, as the flimsy plastic cup buckled in his grip, "well, you've pulled all the plastic cups out of the coffee machine…"

"You really want to borrow the good stuff from the canteen and get that big-arsed woman on your tail when she finds out?" asked Robin.

Gene began to understand why the plastic cups had been a good idea.

"Alright, Batman, question number two, why am I on half measures?"

"Alex said you're not allowed to dr-" Robin began as Alex threw him a dirty look and stamped her foot, which she turned into a polite smile and fluttered her eyelashes when Gene turned to her.

"I said you wouldn't want to drink much because of work tomorrow," she said.

"Half empty glass is a waste," said Gene as he lumbered away to find the champagne bottle.

Alex threw another dirty look at Robin who felt like sinking into the carpet.

"What did you say _that_ for?" she hissed.

"You said we had to stop him drinking too much!" Robin protested.

"Yes, I did," Alex agreed, "I didn't tell you to say that to his _face_ and wait for the inevitable rebellion! He's going to go round and find every drop of champagne in the whole place now!"

"I'm sorry!" cried Robin.

"He can't tolerate alcohol on his medication," Alex reminded him, "he can just about get away with a couple of sips and anything after that and he's in Never-never land!"

"I told you I'm sorry!" Robin cried.

"He had a scotch last week and I found him sitting in the bath telling the plug hole how much he loved it!" Alex told him…

"Look, he won't come to harm here," Robin tried to make the best of the situation, "everyone will make sure he's OK."

"Yes, yes they _will,"_ said Alex, "until he starts singing to their shoes or promoting them to Head of the Arse Division or something along those lines."

"Look, get after him," Robin told her, "damage limitation. I'll go and warn people to keep him away from the alcohol. There are non-alcoholic lagers in his office. Try to get him to drink one of those instead."

"That maybe easier said than done since he now appears to have filled a giant plant pot with all the alcohol he can find and is working his way through it," Alex folded her arms.

"He'll be fine he'll be fine," Robin tried to assure her, "go and intercept him!"

"I swear to you, Robin, if he starts singing the CID version of _Love Shine A Light…"_

Robin frowned.

"What CID version?" he asked.

"Believe me, if you've led to him consuming enough alcohol you'll soon know about it," Alex told him and dashed off to attempt an intervention.

~xXx~

Robin approached Simon who was sitting on the side-lines nursing a can of lager and watching everyone else.

"Hey you," he said quietly.

Simon glanced up and gave him a half-hearted smile.

"Hey," he sighed.

"What's up?" asked Robin.

Simon's eyes turned back to the room.

"Gene by the looks of it," he said, "is he high or something?"

"No, just…" Robin hesitated, "learning the perils of mixing alcohol with medication. Or at least, _we're_ all learning about the perils, he's just enjoying them."

"Oh." Simon wasn't sure what to say about that. He knew Robin's eyes were still on him.

"You seem quiet," Robin pointed out.

Simon looked down.

"Just feeling a little disconnected," he said quietly, "that's all."

Gene wasn't the only one returning to work. Simon had been allowed to take a month of compassionate leave following his breakdown. He felt fairly sure that everyone was talking about him and whispering behind his back. He felt that was the story of his life. Well, his _second_ life, anyway. While most people went to Gene's world to receive the life they'd never had, Simon's had been as near to perfect as anything before his death, His life in this world was never going to match up to that, let alone improve it.

"Why don't you go and mingle?" Robin suggested.

"Mingling is a dirty word, you know that," said Simon.

"You were the one who used to make friends easily!" Robin pointed out.

"Another way we've flipped," Simon sighed.

"Come off it, you know I'd still rather go and spend the afternoon discussing the finer points of dog food with the furry members of the canine division than their two-legged friends," said Robin.

"Only because one of them Is Shaz," Simon pointed out.

Robin's eyes immediately moved to Shaz who was dancing with Jake to _Dead Man Walking._

"I won't mention the _M_ word if you don't mention the _S_ word," he said.

Simon stared into the room with a faint smile.

"Deal," he said.

They fell silent for a few moments. Robin watched Simon sadly. He recalled what Simon used to be like back in the real world. Any time there was a work function Simon would be the one 'mingling' with Robin half-hiding behind him and pretending to be very interested in the cheesy nibbles so that he didn't have to talk to anyone.

"Why don't you go and dance?" he suggested.

"I can't dance," Simon sad miserably.

"Never stopped you before," Robin teased but Simon didn't raise a smile. "We danced in _Bask_," Robin reminded him quietly.

Simon glanced back at him. He felt his heart sinking as he remembered Robin's short first trip to the world. They _had_ danced. Back then Simon was living without fear, convinced they were both still alive and would be returning home soon. They could do what they wanted in Gene's world because no one even knew them on the other side. He wished he could go back to that blissful ignorance, if only for a day.

"Cheesy nibbles?"

Eddie popped up from nowhere. It reminded Robin and Simon a little of a hand puppet appearing from beneath the counter in a kid's TV show.

"Erm, no," frowned Simon, "thank you, but no."

Robin picked up one of the alleged nibbles.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Cheese," said Eddie.

"And?"

Eddie shrugged.

"I don't know," he said,"nibbles?"

Robin sighed and put the object back on the tray.

"I think I'll pass," he said. He shook his head as Eddie wandered away to try his luck elsewhere. "Where's the _real_ food?" he complained, "I thought someone was supposed to be ordering pizzas."

"They did and Gene ate them," Simon moped.

"Them?" frowned Robin.

"Two whole pizzas," said Simon, "what the hell are those tablets he's on?"

"Better question, where is he now?" Robin frowned, trying to spot him.

"Last I heard Alex was trying to persuade him to back away from the plant pots," said Simon, "I think he was proposing marriage."

"Shit," Robin cringed, "why did I open my big mouth about the alcohol?" he watched Eddie approaching Bammo with the tray of nibbles, then quickly leaving as he found Bammo had no qualms about stabbing him with a toothpick.

"I think I might go home," Simon sighed.

"Oh, you can't go already," Robin told him, "come on, the night is young!"

"Well _I'm_ getting _old_ then," Simon sighed.

Simon had moved back into his own flat a few days before. He had been very grateful to Robin for all that he'd done but felt as though he was reaching the point where it was holding him back rather than helping his progress. For the first couple of weeks Simon had almost felt afraid to be alone in case he did something stupid. His therapy sessions had started to help him with that. He'd reached a point at which he felt as though he needed some time alone again. And besides, all of Robin's home cooking coupled with very little exercise wasn't exactly helping his spare tyre.

"Just... just stay to see how much more Gene can humiliate himself?" Robin suggested, "Poirot's stared a pool on what time he's going to pass out."

Simon sighed and downed the last of his can.

"Alright," he said, a little reluctantly, "I suppose I can get in on that."

They watched Eddie appear between Shaz and Jake like a Diglett popping up from the ground calling an instant end to their dance as he frightened them away with a tray of cheesy nibbles.

"Go on," Robin tried prompting him again as the music changed, "go and dance."

"I made enough of a twat of myself when I tripped over that colander Terry liberated from the canteen" Simon said, "I'm not going to give them more fodder by standing on my own in the middle of the room dancing to _Where Have All the Cowboys Gone." _He paused. "Besides, you know Gene takes that song as a personal insult."

They watched Eddie approaching Marci with his tray and a moment later she showed him her fist and chased him through the office.

"Looks like Eddie's chalking up another great success," said Robin.

"At least while he's around I'm only the second saddest idiot in the station," sighed Simon.

"Stop with the self pity," Robin scolded, "what did your psychologist say?"

"She said if I ever brought my crocodile to another session she'd throw a toaster in my bath," said Simon.

"No, I mean," Robin sighed, "about getting out and enjoying life. Making yourself take one little chance every day. Until it becomes second nature."

"I took my chance for the day, I tasted one of Eddie's cheesy nibbles."

"You didn't, you avoided the buggers."

"So did you."

"I'm not the one who's supposed to be taking chances," said Robin, "besides, I approached your crocodile without protective gloves earlier. That's enough of a chance to last all week. "He nodded across the office, "Jake's on his own. Why don't you ask him to dance?" He watched Simon shake his head silently. "You didn't want to dance on your own so ask someone else."

"I don't want to dance at all," Simon protested as Eddie and Marci ran by in the opposite direction, this time with Marci looking a little guilty.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, "Eddie, I'm _sorry_, I thought you accused me of having cheesy nipples!"

"_Nibbles!"_ Eddie wailed as he clutched his black eye, "I said cheesy _nibbles!"_

"Well I know that _now!"_ Marci cried, "Eddie, _wait!"_

Robin sighed and shook his head.

"How many black eyes has she given him now?

"Twenty three," Simon told him, "Bammo keeps a tally."

A slightly award Jake shuffled up to them. His face was a little flushed, partly from the dancing but mostly from the alcohol. Robin had seen Marci and Shaz furnishing him with a few large measures of various alcoholic liquids earlier in the evening and heard a few mutterings of needing dutch courage and seizing the moment but was too busy trying to fend off a croc attack to wonder about it very much. He looked awkwardly away as he half-mumbled,

"Excuse me, sir, would you like to dance?"

Robin nudged Simon a little excitedly.

"Go on," he said.

Jake looked slightly alarmed.

"uh no," he flushed as he looked at Robin, "I –I meant _you_, Sir."

There was a most terrible, awkward moment of silence that fell between the three of them. It was hard to tell who was the most mortified. Finally when it felt as though no one would ever speak again Simon stood up, eyes fixed on the ground.

"Yeah, I get it," he mumbled, "I'm going. See you tomorrow."

Robin felt his stomach drop.

"Oh _God,_ Simon, _wait,"_ he jumped up, looking from the pacing Simon to the mortified Jake, "Wait there," he told him as he trotted off after Simon, but before Simon could get very far Gene stumbled back into the office, slightly muddy with leaves sticking out of his hair. A very annoyed Alex dumped him heavily into a chair, muttering about foliage.

"_Simon!"_ Gene called happily, holding his arms open wide as Simon attempted to make his escape, "_the fruit of my loins!"_

Simon thought that the night could not possibly get any worse.

He had never been more wrong.

"Please shut up," he begged.

Gene addressed the rest of the office.

"Were you all aware that Booshery here is me son?"

"You mean Shoebury," Alex corrected with an angry look upon her face.

"Yes, that's the one," Gene grunted.

Simon closed his eyes and groaned loudly.

"Please, _please_ shut up," he begged.

"We were keeping it secret!" Gene slurred, "because, between me and you…" his eyes scanned the dozen or so faces that were watching intently, "…_all_ of you… I should have been letting his mother get her hands on my big hairy backside."

Simon sank to the ground, head in hands.

"No, no, no, no,_ no….."_ he whimpered, seeing his number of therapy sessions instantly doubling before his very eyes.

"I let me secret agent out on a special mission," Gene continued, "and he didn't go undercover."

"Gene, that is _enough,"_ Alex hissed but Gene was on a roll.

"And then the past came back to haunt me!" Gene cried, raising a toast with an empty glass in Simon's direction, "and me son is a _geek!"_

"That's part one out the way," Simon mumbled, "now we just need my sexuality and my Noel Edmonds jumper and we'll be done with the humiliation.

"He goes to conventions with an H on his head!"

"I do _not!"_ Simon protested.

"Well, there was _one_ time," Robin began but Simon silenced him with a dirty look. It seemed Robin's mouth was determined to get him into trouble that night.

"He cried when his Smeg fridge broke down!" Gene continued, "and he keeps a laminated posted of Agent Mulder under his bed for," he laughed, "_purposes!"_

"Right, that's it," Alex slammed a hand over his mouth, "someone, please, go and get the bloody scotch out of his office!"

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be drinking," said Robin.

"Well thanks to _you_ it's a bit late for that now!" she cried, "besides, while he's got a glass to his lips he can't be using them to humiliate Simon!"

"_Batman!"_ Gene cried enthusiastically as he pushed Alex's hand away.

"…or _you,"_ Alex raised an eyebrow.

"He used to be a bloody wet blanket," Gene continued, his finger aimed in Robin's direction, "but then he started sticking it to a half-robot bird and now he's got more muscles than a seafood stall!"

"I'll get that scotch," Robin said quickly as he turned on his heels.

"You do that," Alex said crossly.

"I think I'd better go," Simon said miserably as he got back to his feet and slunk towards the door but Gene grabbed him by the back of his shirt.

"Simon, wait," he said, his head spinning and trying to focus on the six Simons that were rotating around the room, "Got something to tell you."

"This would relate to your humiliation at having a son who had more Red Dwarf memorabilia than brains, right?" Simon sighed.

Gene looked at him and for a second a kind of sobriety fell over his vision.

"You made it through," he said.

"Through what? Your speech?"

Gene ignored him.

"Proud of you," he mumbled, "keep fighting."

Simon stepped back, frowning a little, he wasn't sure if Gene had meant what he'd said or if it was only the drink talking. He didn't have a lot of chance to find out because as Robin and the scotch appeared Gene turned his attention back to topping up his alcohol levels and the moment was forgotten.

"Simon," Robin caught his attention and pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Simon glanced around.

Robin looked a little guilty.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Simon didn't reply, he wasn't really sure. "Look, I'm sorry, I had no idea Jake meant me –"

"It's alright."

"No, it's not, I was pushing you to –"

"It's fine, really," Simon said but his expression told a different story. He shook his head slowly. "I should go."

"You should stay," Robin told him.

"I think I've had all the humiliation I can take for one night," said Simon.

"Stay for me?" Robin asked.

"You go and dance with your trendy friends," Simon mumbled.

"Robin!" Alex's angry cry pulled his attention away.

"What?" he asked, his eyes flicking back to Simon, desperately hoping he wouldn't make a fast getaway.

"_You_ started this mess, you can babysit Gene for five minutes," Alex told him.

"He doesn't need babysi-" Robin began but as he glanced at Gene he spotted him crooning lovingly to Simon's crocodile. "Actually, you're right, he does." He sighed in defeat and sloped off to do as Alex asked while she turned to Simon.

"Simon, I'm so sorry," she said, "Gene's just… well, his pills... they don't agree with the alcohol…"

"It's alright," Simon said quietly, "I supposed the truth would come out sooner or later."

"It usually does," Alex said quietly. She looked a little awkward. "Simon, I've noticed things have been a little strained between us lately." She paused. "We are OK, aren't we?"

"What do you mean?" Simon asked.

"Gene… told you about me," she guessed, "and Kim. Am I right?" she saw Simon look away. "Simon, listen. I know how strongly you feel about the subject of infidelity. I'm not going to justify myself because it's really none of your business, it's between me, Gene, Kim and Robin."

"You make it sound like a bloody orgy," Simon mumbled, his face flushing.

"But I don't want things to be difficult between us," she said sincerely.

Simon glanced at her a little guiltily. If he was honest he was still having trouble understanding what had happened both with Alex and Kim and Gene and… and another Alex. He hung his head a little.

"I don't want them to be difficult either," he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not very… _open minded."_

"It's not about being open minded," Alex said quietly, "it's about needing… _something_… when you're in a strange world. Surely you can understand that."

Simon turned his eyes downward. He knew that Alex was thinking about Keats. He was no better than anyone else. He could only nod.

"I'm trying," he said quietly.

"We're friends then?" Alex asked softly.

Simon gave a weak smile.

"Of course we are," he said quietly.

"Good," said Alex, "so you're staying here. Not walking out on this party."

Simon closed his eyes and groaned.

"That's nothing to do with you," he told her, "I just have had one humiliation after another."

If it's any consolation Gene is never going to live that speech down," she told him.

"Neither am I," said Simon, "I'm going to find an H engraved in my desk by morning." He shook his head. "And anyway, that was only part of it." His eyes moved to where Jake was standing in the corner of the room, looking utterly humiliated with Shaz trying to calm him down. "This is it forever now, isn't it? I'm the bloody wallflower in every party. Forever alone. I might as well change my name to Eddie."

Alex bit her lip.

"Eddie doesn't seem to be very alone for once," she commended as she nodded across the office. There in the middle of the room was Eddie giving Marci what could only be described as a _tongue sandwich._

"Bloody hell," Simon literally slapped his forehead, "he finally did it." He paused. "Must have been the cheesy nipples."

Alex looked at him in horror and peered down her top.

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

Simon sighed.

"Long story," he mumbled.

~xxx~

"We're almost related," Gene told Robin with an arm around his shoulder. Every time Robin edged away, Gene leaned a little more towards him. Robin had never felt so tense in all his life. He was sitting like a block of stone, afraid to move – aside from trying to escape the arm.

"I… don't think we are," he said, trying to peel Gene away from his shoulders but Gene wasn't having it.

"You see, _Matban,"_ he slurred, "my missus and _your_ missus were enjoying a spot of clam digging, that almost makes us lesbians-in-law."

"I think you'll find that it _doesn't,"_ an angry Robin tried once again to peel Gene's arm from his shoulders but as soon as he removed it there it was, back again.

"Now, _personally_," Gene continued, "would have liked to see Bolly with something that had more flesh than metal. Do the rivets stick in yer back in the middle of the night?"

"Right, that's enough of that," Robin tried to give Gene a more forceful shove away but even all the gym visits were no match for a drunken Gene.

"And you wear the eyeliner better than Stringer," Gene told him, "how do you manage yer flawless application?"

"My _what?"_ Robin cried in alarm.

"Bet Stringer has yer pants away quicker than you can say _'confirmed bachelorette' _when she sees you in that," said Gene.

"How about I go home quicker than you can say '_what the hell was I doing last night'?"_ Robin suggested.

"Course, it doesn't go amiss," Gene slurred, "a bit of good clean fun between two hot blooded women…"

"I had enough trouble coming to terms with _one_ hot blooded woman," Robin said in horror, "can we change the subject now?"

"Can't quite get me mental image right without knowing where all the rivets go though," Gene told him.

"I'm really not comfortable with this conversation," Robin cried in alarm, trying desperately to scramble out from under Gene's arm.

"Does she set off the metal detectors at airports?" Gene mumbled as Robin finally broke free and Gene tumbled to the ground with an almighty crash that brought Alex scurrying over.

"What happened?" she cried

"I wish I knew!" cried Robin, his face the colour of a tomato, "call your fiancé off!"

"Hard to do that when he's already out cold," said Alex.

"And thank god for that!"

"Why? What did he say to you?" Alex asked anxiously.

"Oh _nothing!"_ cried Robin, "except that we were apparently _lesbians in law_ and he wanted a full breakdown of Kim's body mods!"

Alex's expression froze on her face in horror.

"He wanted _what?"_

"And then he started complimenting my eyeliner and," he shuddered, "I _really_ don't feel comfortable with the amount of physical contact I had to endure!" he shuddered, "that went beyond male bonding!" he grabbed his coat from the stand by the door and cried, "I'm going home to hide under my duvet for a _very_ long time."

"Robin_, wait!"_ Alex cried "I'm sorry, it's the pills… they just… they interact with the alcohol, like I said!"

"Well _he_ was interacting with _me!" _Robin cried in alarm. "If he likes my eyeliner so much tell him to bloody get his own!"

Alex stared at her unconscious fiancé, snoring on the floor, then looked around the office at the number of people he'd managed to insult, humiliate or injure that day. She pulled a thoughtful face as she dug into her pocket and pulled something from within. She looked at Robin and raised an eyebrow.

_"That,"_ she said, "can be arranged…"


	47. Chapter 46: The Morning After

**Chapter 46**

Gene's eyes threatened to open several times before they succeeded.

At first he wasn't sure where he was, or who he was, or if he had a head. And, if he _did_ have a head, what was sitting on top of it banging out a drumbeat that wouldn't be out of place on one of Geoff's favourite albums.

When he established that he did, in fact, have a head he decided the next thing to do was to work out where he was. He slowly opened his eyes and realised he was face-down on something and after pushing himself up a little the 'something' transpired to be his sofa.

"Morning," he said to the plush material as he righted himself and sent the room into a twister.

The searing pain in his head made it difficult to see. His body felt stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, his eyes felt weirdly sore and there was an eerie burbling from his guts where the alcohol he hadn't been used to and the pizzas were still letting him know that they weren't happy with their current location. There was a smell in the air, and it was one that made his stomach lurch. _Food_. The sound of frying emanated from the kitchen and with extremely slow, staggered steps he tiptoed to the doorway and peered in where he found a sight he hadn't expected,. With one hand to his throbbing forehead he turned around slowly and almost jumped a mile as he found Alex directly behind him.

"_Morning!"_ she said as loudly as she could, rattling his brains with that one word. He closed his eyes and took a moment to convince the world not to turn so fast.

"Today might be a good day for the softly-softly approach," he said awkwardly.

"Ready and raring for your first day back at work?"Alex asked with a broad smile.

"Ready and raring for the alka seltzer," Gene mumbled. He rubbed his temples and demanded to know, "why is _Shoebury_ frying things in our kitchen?"

"He kindly offered to come and cook you breakfast on your first day back at work," Alex gave him a sweet, innocent smile, "now isn't that nice of him?"

"Depends on whether you think sending me hurtling to the khazi is nice or not, " Gene muttered.

Alex masked a snigger as she took note of the bright blue make-up still placed boldly around his eyes. It had barely smudged overnight. Alex knew it was strong, hardy stuff. She'd been using the same eyeliner for years, ever since she'd arrived in Gene's world,. It was a good brand – it _had_ to be to cope with all the crying she used to do. It was amazing it had survived with the night Gene'd had though.

"Come on, Gene, Simon's waiting to serve your breakfast," she told him as she politely but firmly pushed Gene towards the kitchen. He stumbled through the doorway, trying to focus on Simon and wondering why he looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

_"Morning!"_ Simon said every bit as loudly as Alex had a moment before.

"I'll put your volume on mute with me fist in a moment," Gene threatened. He eyed the hobs. "What are you doing in me kitchen?"

"Come to cook you breakfast!" Simon said brightly, "after the night you had last night I thought it was appropriate."

"I'm not sure my stomach's going to agree with that," Gene swallowed hard.

"Nonsense," Simon smiled broadly, "a hearty fry-up is the perfect cure for a hangover, isn't that right, Alex?"

Alex beamed as Gene scowled. This was starting to look like a highly polished performance they'd been working on all morning.

"That's right," Alex told him, "As Gene kindly demonstrated to me after I'd maybe had _one or two_ units too many when I had a girls' night out with Kim and Shaz."

"And he _oh-so-kindly_ demonstrated the same thing to me when I'd perhaps overdone the alcohol a smidgen when I was playing truth or dare," Simon continued the script, "so I thought today I would pay him back for that _kind_ lesson in dealing with a hangover." He tipped the frying pan up a little and showed Gene the inch-thick layer of fat in the pan. "Look, Gene – it's real lard too!"

Gene's stomach lurched but he just about managed to control the urge to spray recycled pizza over the kitchen.

"Very kind of you but I think I'll pass," he said,

"Pass _out_, more like," said Simon, "you need to get a good meal inside of you."

He pushed the contents of the pan onto a plate and placed it in the table before shoving Gene into a chair. Gene eyed the meal suspiciously as the rashers of bacon and the sausages swam in the fat Simon had been so proud of.

"I think I'll start with an aspirin," he said.

"Can't take that on an empty stomach," Alex told him.

"I'll risk it," said Gene. He got back to his feet and wandered to a cabinet where he began to dig around for something to take the edge off of the pulsating pain in his head. He gulped two tablets down without water and turned back to Alex and Simon's false, fixed smiles. "So," he began awkwardly, "Did I, err… have a decent night last night?"

"You, yes. The rest of us? Not really." Simon pushed Gene back to the table. He wasn't going to let him avoid the fry-up forever.

"The highlight for _me_ was when you passed out and spent ten minutes unconscious on the floor," said Alex.

"Ah yes, that part was good for me as well," said Simon, "it stopped his lose lips from flapping."

"You watch it, Shoebury," scowled Gene before he paused. "Exactly what were me loose lips saying?"

"Well," Simon began, "the station is now fully aware that I am a branch on the Hunt family tree, and also that you have a hairy backside."

"And _also_ that you sent your man in and he didn't go undercover," Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

Gene poked at the pile of fried food on his plate.

"Shoebury, what do you call this?"

Simon smiled charmingly.

"_Grease!"_ he said.

"This pig meat is rock solid!" Gene tapped on the bacon to prove a point, "if you were going to torture me guts couldn't you have at least found someone who knows their way around a frying pan? Like Batman? Or anyone who isn't Simon?"

"Yes well," Alex folded her arms, "unfortunately Robin is scared of going within twenty metres of you now, since you were coming onto him for his delectable eyeliner all night."

Gene froze absolutely stock-still. He swallowed very hard and the churning in his stomach reached epic proportions.

"If this is a joke then the person behind it is about to die," He said stiffly, "and if it _isn't_, then _I'm_ about to die."

"I've had to give him the name of my bloody psychologist!" Simon informed Gene fairly angrily, "he hasn't come out from under his duvet since ten o'clock last night! We were just starting to build a friendship and now it's in jeopardy because he feels it is inappropriate to be _lesbians-in-law_ with my _long-lost father!"_

Gene stared at the pool of sloppy grease on his plate and actually would have done anything to swap places with one of those rashers of bacon.

"He must have misunderstood me," he mumbled.

"Yes, I suppose that was because of all the imagining of _two hot blooded women together_ that you insisted he had to do," Alex put her hands on her hips and pursed her lips.

Simon went back to the hobs and picked up a saucepan.

"Oh look," he said, "I almost forgot. Beans." He poured out the contents of the pan, an entire can of beans, onto the side of Gene's plate. "There. That'll remind you of your new love interest."

This time as his stomach lurched Gene knew the porcelain playground was calling.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, "I need to have a one-to-one with the WC."

Alex and Simon tried to keep straight faces as they watched him lumber away as quickly as he possibly could.

"Do you feel… mean?" asked Alex.

Simon thought for a moment.

"Definitely," he said, "…I should at least have cooked him an egg with that…"

~xXx~

It was a full fifteen minutes later that Gene returned with a green hue across his cheeks. However, that seemed to be the least of his problems. He pulled up his crumpled shirt sleeve and revealed something written in what appeared to be Alex's blue eyeliner.

"Alright, who the bloody hell is Mark, why is his phone number on me arm and why has he signed it with a _kiss?"_

Alex shrugged.

"Why don't you call him and see?" she asked, a little sarcastically.

"Don't you remember, Gene?" Simon asked, "you had a little… _lie down_ for a while… then when you woke up you made Jake and Marci take you clubbing."

Gene froze.

"_Clubbing?"_ he scowled, "please tell me this has something to do with the murdering of baby seals rather than the hot sweaty sea of human bodies in lycra, wiggling their arses on podiums."

Simon shrugged.

"Sorry, Gene."

"Might I say how very open-minded it was of you to visit a gay club?" Alex told him as she patronisingly rubbed his shoulder, "who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?"

"Not Mark, that's for certain," Simon tried to keep a straight face.

"_Right! That's it!"_ Gene blundered into the lounge to locate his stick, "I am going to work. If anyone wants me I'll be scrubbing myself clean in the bogs and surrounding myself with volumes of heterosexual pornography."

"Gene?" Alex said sweetly, earning a glare from him, "don't you want to go in the bathroom and tidy yourself up a bit first? You're in a bit of a mess." She bit her lip to stop herself from laughing as Gene remained oblivious to the eyeliner.

"I do not need to tidy meself up," Gene said crossly, "I'm not trying to earn a modelling contract, I just wasn't to pick up scum on the streets."

"Oh, I think you'll do that," Simon was almost losing it by now. The smirks of Alex and Simon gave Gene's blood boil just enough to cause him to storm awkwardly from the house and slam the front door, their cue to burst into fits of laughter.

"How long do you think it will be before someone tells him?" Simon wanted to know.

"Hopefully long enough for Gene to learn his lesson about mixing alcohol with medication," said Alex. She nodded towards the doorway. "Come on, it would be rude not to at least observe the results."

~xXx~

CID was surprisingly subdued that morning, everyone knew Gene was returning and most knew about the state he'd been in the night before, The office was on tenterhooks, waiting to see how long it would take him to arrive that day.

While most of the gathering had dispersed shortly after Gene passed out ,Jake and Marci had been coerced into a visit to their favourite club by Gene who had given them both a large bear-hug and told them he was trying to absorb a little nineties culture. With Shaz and Eddie tagging along at Alex's request to help them keep Gene out of trouble – for the most part – Gene set off for a night of rather stilted dancing, complete with walking stick and eyeliner. He'd wondered why he was so popular and gained so much attention.

Marci rubbed her head and looked at Jake over the dark glasses that she hadn't quite been able to shed. Her mass of black curls were frizzy enough to resemble a hedge and she still had an extraordinary amount of glitter sprinkled in there from where Gene had managed to find a tube and described himself as a _magic little elf_ as he dusted everyone within a 10 mile radius.

"How's your head?" she asked.

"Better than _yours_ by the looks of it," Jake pushed a black coffee from the machine across to her. She took it gratefully.

"Thanks," she said. She sipped it and closed her eyes with a sigh. "Where did you get to anyway? Don't tell me you actually copped off for once?"

"Yes, because that's what I do, isn't it? I spend my life seeking romance and have _so _much success when I do." Jake's tone was mostly sarcastic but there as a little bitterness in there. His humiliation the night before was still raw nd as always he went home alone. "Anyway, how about you?"

Marci bit her lip.

"What do you mean, _how about me?"_

"Did you end up going home alone?"

Marci hesitated. She felt her cheeks beginning to flush.

"Not exactly," she said.

Jake raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean '_not exactly'?"_ he asked

"I think I may have slept with Eddie," Marci said dubiously.

"You _think?"_ frowned Jake.

"I'm a bit sketchy on the details of last night," Marci explained, one hand to her head.

"Then what makes you think it was Eddie?"

"Because I found a pair of pants with _'Hi, I'm Eddie'_ embroidered on them," Marci explained.

Jake cringed. That had to be the single most embarrassing thing he'd ever heard.

"And there was no sign of the owner of the pair of pants when you awoke this morning?" he asked.

"No," mumbled Marci, "just a piece of paper with what I _think_ was supposed to be a self-portrait and _'you're welcome'_ written on it."

Jake tried desperately to keep a straight face but a splutter of laughter made it very hard.

"I'm sorry, Marci," he bit his lip, "that must have been… a shock this morning."

"He'd made me breakfast too," Marci said, scratching her head, "at least I _think_ he did. There was a piece of burnt toast at my kitchen table with milk on it, and dry cornflakes in a bowl." She shook her head. "Either he was still a little under the influence from last night or he left in a hurry and got confused."

"Why didn't he stick around or wake you?" asked Jake.

"From what I can gather he doesn't get to the _going home with someone_ part very often," said Marci, "he's probably never been _allowed_ to stay until morning, doesn't know what to do," she groaned deeply as she rested her forehead against her desk. "What an night."

She sat up quickly as the sound of Gene's walking stick came closer and they both watched as he strode slowly through the office, his eyes still caked with the beautiful blue stuff.

"Uh, morning Guv," Jake said with a smirk.

Gene glared at them.

"One word about rainbows from either of you and I'll be demoting you to sprout duty," Gene scowled.

"Wasn't going to mention rainbows," Jake held up his hands, "I was just going to ask if you felt a little _blue."_

"Yer eye will be feeling _black_ and blue if you don't get back to work," he barked.

Jake smirked again.

"Well I know _someone_ who can carry off the _blue_ part of that rather well," he commented.

~xXx~

Gene stared out into CID and wondered for the fifteenth time why Terry and Bammo kept pointing to him and laughing. He stomped out his door and demanded,

"You going to tell me what's going on or do you need to spend a bit of time tied to me roof rack?"

"Just glad to see you back, Guv," Terry told him, "and so full of colour to!"

Eyeing him suspiciously, Gene grunted then turned around and walked slowly back to his desk. He sank into his chair and wished he could reach for the scotch but after the night before he conceded that was probably not the best idea.

His door opened and he looked up to see an extremely terrified Robin hovering in the doorway with a handful of papers. He stood as far away from Gene as possible, tossed the files onto the desk and said;

"These are from the present cases. If you've got any questions ask Jake. I'm not going to be around this afternoon. I've got an emergency therapy session."

"_Batman!"_ Gene said loudly.

Robin wouldn't even look at him.

"I'm not doing it!" he said quickly, "I'm not providing you with a list of Kim's piercings just so you can… _get your mental image right!"_

"I no more want a mental image of yer missus than I want one of the state of me mashed-up brain right now!" cried Gene.

"You did _last night!"_ cried Robin.

"I'm a bit fuzzy on that," Gene told him.

Robin risked a glance in his direction. The fact that he was still wearing the eyeliner troubled him. Surely he'd noticed? Or someone would have told him by now?

"I'll be down in my office, sobbing quietly," Robin told him as he made a fast exit.

~xXx~

It was midday when the knock sounded at Gene's door. The sound jarred his head. The painkillers hadn't done much and neither had the 6 lattes he'd consumed over the last couple of hours. He looked up from the mountain of paper work he'd barely started looking through.

"Yes?" he groaned, not really wishing to speak to anyone.

The door opened and Gene was surprised to find Superintendent Fletcher standing there.

"Good afternoon, Gene." He said, "I was just coming to see how you…" he seemed to hesitate as he stared at Gene, "…how you were doing on your first day back at work."

"Blindingly," Gene mumbled.

Fletcher hesitated.

"Gene, I've had a few… _comments_," he cleared his throat, "from members of the station. Concerned about your mental state."

"I might have had a crack over the 'ead but I've still got all me marbles," Gene told him with a frown.

"Right. Yes. Well," Fletcher cleared his throat, "It seems that perhaps you're feeling a little… _insecure."_

Gene couldn't understand what he was talking about.

"Sir?"

"Threatened by Chief Inspector Thomas after his temporary spell in charge of CID."

"I'm only _threatened_ by the thought of a roadmap of his missus' rivets!" said Gene.

"It's only natural that you might be feeling a little insecure upon your return," Fletcher continued, "Chief inspector Thomas is young, dynamic, popular –"

"You've just described all me best credentials," Gene got to his feet, "so kindly tell me where this is leading."

Fletcher gave a sigh.

"While I can appreciate you making the effort to get into a… _trendier mindset_," he said awkwardly, "I think trying to emulate Robin's style is perhaps a step too far."

"You want me shoving bits of metal through me eyelid?" cried Gene.

"No, I just want you to get rid of the make-up," Fletcher told him, "I've had complaints from _Boots_. Sales of their cosmetics have gone down by fifty percent overnight just from you walking around with… _that_… on your face."

"With _what_ on my face, sir?" Gene demanded.

"I'm not trying to oppress your new-found metrosexuality –"

"So new even _I_ haven't found it yet?"

"But the bright blue isn't exactly appropriate for the workplace," Fletcher concluded, "Maybe save it for your next wild night on the town, hmm?"

As Fletcher turned and left the room Gene stared after him, dumbfounded, for once wholly unable to string together a sentence. Over the course of one night he'd lost respect, half his memory and it seemed as though he'd lost his marbles as well. That was the last time he was going to mix alcohol and medication.

There was only one thing for it, he though as he reached for his scotch.

"Sorry," he told his meds as he tossed them in the bin, "you've got to go."

~xXx~

"So you found it then?"

Alex had to smirk as a less feminine Gene threw open the door of her office and stood there, arms folded, a look of fury on his face.

"Yes," he said, "I _did_. After finally catching a glimpse of me reflection in me glass of scotch."

"_Scotch?_ Oh _Gene_, not more alcohol…"

"The pills have gone out the window," said Gene, "or in the bin at least. I needed something to calm me nerves after Poirot pinched me backside and wished me luck in me future career as a sodding _drag_ queen!"

Alex tried and failed not to laugh.

"Oh Gene," she sighed.

"And besides," Gene continued, "I needed hair of the dog."

"It's the hair of the dog _trainer_ you should be worried about," Alex giggled, "since you've already had the eyeliner you'll be adopting Robin's haircut next."

"I'll be adopting a herd of _cats_ and getting rid of me other half," Gene told her, "spending the rest of me life as a bachelor."

"Do it and die," Alex told him, narrowing her eyes and supressing as smile. She got to her feet and walked slowly towards him, closing the door behind him. "You're back where you belong," she smiled.

"Where I belong?" Gene repeated, "apparently that's anywhere but the make-up counter at Boots."

Alex laid her hands on his shoulders and the corners of her mouth tipped up into a smile.

"Back in your rightful place," she told him, "at the helm." Her smile faded and her eyes took on a distant sadness as she whispered, "I thought I'd _lost_ you."

"Takes more than a knock on the head to get rid of me," Gene told her, "if it didn't I'd be dead and buried, number of times the 'eadboard's taken umbrage to me while we've been enjoying bedroom Olympics." Gene told her.

Alex's smile returned. She looked him in the eye and asked,

"So, Guv you've been back and forth through time. What have you learned on your travels?"

Gene blew out his breath as he tried to mull it over.

"I've learned the most terrifying sound in the universe are the opening bars of _Never Gonna Give you Up,"_ he began, "I've learned that Superintendents should take precautions to keep long-necked wildlife out of their offices. I've learned that Sam bloody Tyler definitely couldn't fly." He looked Alex in the eye. "I've learnt to respect the fine art of psychology."

Alex pulled a slight face and gave a nod of approval as he finally got the term right.

"Very good," she said.

Gene's mind went over the other Alex and their talks; how she helped him to overcome his guilt; how she helped him to see what Simon, Robin and Kim had each taken from being a part of his world; his very own Scarecrow, Cowardly Lion and Tin Man. As he thought about it he closed his eyes and gave the slightest hint of a smile. "And," he said, "I've learned that that there's no place like home."

"That's very cheesy," she warned him, "I think they removed your sense of self-respect when they relieved the swelling on your brain."

But as she slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer for a kiss to solidify her contentment at his return she didn't care at all. He could be cheesy if he wanted to. He could throw all the insults under the sun at her for the eyeliner torture. He could even subject her to an hour-long comedy routine of Kim jokes and puns at her expense. She didn't care. Because all of those things meant that Gene was home, healthy and back where he belonged.

The Lion was back in his den.

_**~xXx~ The End ~xXx~**_

_**A/N: There will be an epilogue AND a bonus chapter up hopefully tomorrow night – so much love and huge thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic and stuck with it even when it made no sense! I really hope you've enjoyed the ride x**_

_**Also thanks to Rant for helping me to work out how to make Gene/Eyeliner CANON and also I will return Mark to you post-haste, since he is quietly sobbing under the table right now :D **_


	48. Epilogue: Until Next Time

**Epilogue**

Simon sighed as he put the papers to one side and picked up an eyewitness statement instead. This was starting to frustrate him, looking for the holes in statements, but it was better than seeing people gunned down by hot toasted bread products. He'd finally taken the courage to tell Gene how unhappy he was with his work in Fenchurch East and after recalling the brief encounter he'd had with _Shoebury 2010_ Gene could see that the pokey little department wasn't doing enough for him. He'd pulled some strings and helped Simon to find a way to become involved with CIDs cases, which for the most part he was enjoying but every now and then there was still that one case that frustrated him to high heaven.

Gene had been back at work for a few days and despite a lot of interesting portraits in the toilets the eyeliner incident was more or less behind him. There had been more use of the filing cabinet than usual for the first couple of days and after that people became far too nervous to push the point, at least to his face.

Simon turned over anther sheet of paper and began to cross-reference some facts when a flurry of furious footsteps came towards him and he looked up to see Robin in the doorway.

"Rob?" he noticed that the man's face was red and his eyes flashed with anger, "what's the matter?"

"_Gene_ is!" Robin cried, "can someone please tell that man that he's a few weeks late for april fool's day?"

Simon felt himself sighing inside.

"Why?" he groaned, "what's he done now?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Ropbin cried, "except that he's turned into a walking, talking internet meme!"

Simon stared at him.

"He's what?"

"Next time you see him please inform the man that I am _not_ craving his McNuggies, Advice Dog can stick his advice up his arse and if I find any more flying, colourful cats drawn on my office wall to torment my dogs then there's going to be _hell_ to pay." He slammed a piece of cardboard crudely cut until the shape of a star onto Simon's desk. "Oh, and he keeps going round and issuing people with these when they've screwed up."

Simon picked up the large card item with '_You Tried' _scrawled across the middle in Gene's handwriting,.

"Well I'm… _sorry_, Rob," he frowned, "I'm not sure what to tell you."

"How about, 'Don't worry Robin, I'll protect you from the crazed internet meme man'?"

"You don't need protecting, you've got the whole canine unit behind you."

""Yeah, and they're all sporting '_You Tried'_ stickers on their collars!" Robin cried.

It was at that precise moment that Gene arrived at the door. He glanced at Robin and greeted him with a nod.

"Good afternoon, Batman," he said "Could it be –"

"I am craving _McNothing_ from you!" Robin backed away and tried to hide behind a yucca plant.

Gene tried hard not to laugh.

"Shoebury," he barked, "Need you to listen to this." He tossed a tape through the air where it landed in Simon's hands.

"What is it?" frowned Simon.

"Interview with the Hardy suspect," said Gene, "I want you to listen to the first five minutes, Give me yer opinion on whether you think he's telling the truth"

"Oh Gene, I'm up to my eyeballs in this," Simon groaned, waving a stack of papers in the air.

"Five minutes, that all I need," Gene told him, his palms raised.

Simon gave a deep sigh and a groan but reluctantly nodded.

"Fine," he said, "I'll listen to that now."

"Good man," said Gene before he made a quick exit.

Simon got to his feet, tape in hand and glanced at Robin.

"I don't know what's so important," he said, "this case is pretty much wrapped up."

"Maybe Gene just wants you to confirm that?" Robin suggested as Simon opened the door of his tape recorder and slipped the tape inside.

"Hopefully I'll do that within the next five minutes and can get back to my bloody _paperwork,"_ Simon said with a sigh, he closed the door of the recorder, pressed play and waited.

"I'll leave you to it," said Robin but before he could leave music began to play. Simon stared at the tape recorder. This was not an interview tape. He wasn't sure exactly what it _was_, but it had nothing to do with the Hardy case.

"What the…?" he began.

_#...We're no strangers to love_

_You know the rules and so do I_

_A full commitment's what I'm thinking of_

_You wouldn't get this from any other guy_

_I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling_

_Gotta make you understand_

_Never gonna give you up_

_Never gonna let you down_

_Never gonna run around and desert you_

_Never gonna make you cry_

_Never gonna say goodbye_

_Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you…#_

With a very shocked expression Simon turned to Robin. His eyes were wide, his skin pale and his mouth gaping in horror, he couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. Robin stared back.

"Did… _Gene Hunt_… just _Rickroll_ you?" he asked incredulously.

Simon could only nod.

"I think he did," he eventually squeaked in horror. His shocked eyes focused on Robin. "And for that... he is going… _to die!"_

Scrambling to his feet, croc under his arm, Simon raced out into the corridor where a smug Gene was trying not to descend into fits of laughter. His foray into the twenty first century had landed him with fodder that would keep him going for weeks, much to the frustration of his team.

But despite super-fast technology and a society that could fap to anything Gene had never been more glad to be firmly rooted in 1997.

~xXx~

Kim's hands shook as she poured out her scotch. They shook most of the time now. If it wasn't because she was in need of a drink then it was because of the lack of food, or sometime the dehydration that gave her intense headaches and dizzy spells. She didn't really care what was behind them. A couple of good measures and she'd be fine. It wasn't as though she needed a steady hand, she'd given up tattooing months back. Now all she cared about was putting away the shit from the streets during the day and putting away a few units at night.

It had been a long, slow downward spiral since the bloodbath that Layton had caused. Losing her baby, then Robin, then having the opportunity of adopting Alex's baby being taken away from her she found herself completely alone in the world. She had nothing, She had no one, Everyone she was close to was on the other side. Robin, Alex – she now spent her days and nights alone.

Her promotion to DCI had been both a blessing and a curse. It gave her something to focus on. It gave her a reason to get up in the mornings, otherwise she felt fairly sure she would not even get out of bed. But on the other hand she focused on it too much; work was her everything now. Without it she had nothing. The only people she saw were the members of her team and the criminals they put in the cells. She'd even stopped seeing her sons. It was too painful.

The final straw came when Evan, upon his release from prison, had called her up insisting that they needed to meet. Kim had been extremely reluctant but had somehow forced herself to attend. The news that he was planning to complete and release Alex's book had come as complete a shock and horrified Kim to her core, She could only imagine the damage it could do, letting that information into the public domain. Imagine all the coppers who would come out of the woodwork? _"It happened to me too…" A_nd all of those heading back in time and found themselves in the world they'd been reading of? It could do irreparable damage to Gene's world.

Asking Kim to write a foreword and conclusion had been the final insult. Her angry and violent refusal, culminating in what became known as _Wedgiefest 2012_, had led to her being forced to see a psychologist before her tenure as DCI was made permanent.

Fat lot of good that had done. _Like the idiot knew anything at all. _

A bottle of scotch. That was Kim's therapist. She felt as though she understood Gene Hunt more than she ever had when she'd been in the 90s.

She dropped her aching body onto the sofa and took a large gulp of her drink. Yeah, that was what she needed. She gave a satisfied sigh as she pulled her legs up onto the couch and switched on the TV. _Red Dwarf_ came into focus and she angrily changed the channel. _No reminders_. That was the last thing she wanted. She flicked to something else and just let the TV play away while she let her mind go blank and concentrated on topping up her blood alcohol level.

She completely blocked out the hunger pangs as her stomach gave a long, drawn-out growl. She didn't register the thirst where her body cried out for more than just alcohol. She couldn't feel. She couldn't feel anything at all.

_Fxzzzzttttt_

Except for that. Except for the static that suddenly burst through the air. It made all the hairs rise on the back of her neck and her half-closed eyes open wide. What the hell was _that?_ Her eyes focused on the TV set. Where a moment earlier the picture had been showing the latest _Dispatches_ special, something about a dangerous batch of red wooden crocodiles, the picture was now fizzing and jumping like crazy with a loud buzzing in the air.

"What's going on?" she blurted out loud. Her eyes fixed on the screen as an image fizzed and spluttered onto the TV. She peered forward and tried to focus, the alcohol was doing a number on her vision and she couldn't quite tell what she was seeing.

The screen was dark. There was a room… but the lighting seemed to be minimal. What the hell was she _watching?_ Had the channel chanced by itself? She leaned forward a little further and tried to make sense of what she could see. There was a desk, she could just about make that out, and what seemed to be a filing cabinet with a sack or something in front of it. As the picture cleared the sack seemed to be moving. Then she realised it wasn't a sack at all, it was a person, wriggling, struggling; a gag around their mouth and hands tied above their head to one of the cabinet's drawer handles.

"What the _hell-?"_ she whispered as she peered a little more closely.

Two legs strode into vision and blocked half of the room, almost as though they were standing in front of the camera. Immaculate grey trousers and shiny shoes filled the scene. Beyond them, the tied-up figure began to panic and struggle as the legs drew closer, the fear almost palpable. As the scene moved forward, the gagged face came into sharper focus. Even despite the alcohol and the exhaustion Kim knew who it was. She knew from the way her stomach churned and her heart sped up to many times its usual pace.

"_Oh my god,"_ she breathed as she slid to her knees on the floor, _"no, no, no –"_

And then a voice from the screen.

"_Hello, Alex."_

The voice she didn't want to hear. The voice she _never_ wanted to hear again. And there _he_ was, slowly encroaching on her closest friend; on the woman she'd looked up to, respected and adored. The woman who she'd given a home and support to, the woman with whom she'd shared one very special night, the woman she idolised and would have done anything to protect from the very thing she could see unfolding before her.

_"Ma'am!"_ she screamed, her heart leaping into her throat.

She could do nothing but watch as he took another step towards her.

"_How are you feeling now? Bit light headed?"_ that voice cast the most terrible fear into her soul. "_Maybe you need a lie down."_

"Oh god, _no,_ ma'am," Kim cried, her voice loaded with anguish as she watched him edging closer, his filthy hands grabbing for the buttons of Alex's shirt. "_No!"_ she screamed as she watched Alex struggle and sob on the screen, "No! You _bastard! You bastard!"_ She crawled across the floor until she knelt before the television, the images bombarding her with horror and anguish. "_Ma'am, no!"_ she wept as she watched him reaching for Alex's soft skin and drawing his fingers across it.

She pressed her hands flat against the glass as though she could reach in and drag him away. She _had_ to do _something_. She couldn't stand by and watch. What the fuck _was_ this? Why was she being _shown_ this? Unless – unless there was _something_… unless there was a _way_… "Please… What can I _do?_ What the _hell_ am I supposed to _do?_ How do I stop this?" She felt hot and angry tears flowing down her cheeks and blurring her vision as she struck the TV repeatedly with her fist, desperately yearning to change the sight before her_. "Please!_ Ma'am… " her heart pulsed and her fear reached a level she had never felt before. She found herself yelling a word she rarely used. _"Alex! ALEX!"_

But her cries were to no avail. She viewed the scene as his hands ran across Alex's body, blocking out the crying and the weeping masked only partially by the gag she'd been forced to wear. When his hands reached for the belt around her trousers Kim could take no more. She coughed and retched, purging her stomach of its contents as the images burned her so badly, so deeply; her sobbing and her cries reached a terrifying crescendo before the TV made a violent _'ping'_ noise and the vision faded to black.

"_NO!"_ she screamed, her fists hitting the television again_, "No!"_

She screamed that one word over and over until her throat was raw. It couldn't be happening. She _couldn't_ have witnessed that. It was impossible and yet her eyes had absorbed it, every last sickening second of it. Why was she seeing it? Why was that coming through to her? The fear and the terror built up and up inside of her as she wept furiously for the woman who was at the mercy of the purest evil.

Was it real? Was it really happening? Was it _about_ to happen? She didn't know. She couldn't tell what she had seen. All she knew was that she would have gladly given her own life to stop that from happening.

That was where she stayed, in front of the television set for hours and hours, crying and screaming until she wore herself out and passed out on the floor. The visions that she'd been shown couldn't have been any darker and neither could her heart.

Just as she thought she couldn't feel any more she discovered she was wrong.

Anguish was something she could feel all too well.

~xXx~

Gene ticked off the last name on his list.

"That's everyone," he told Alex, "me eyeliner revenge is complete."

"Except for me," Alex raised an eyebrow.

Gene raised his in return.

"You, Missus Woman, are going to have to pay yer penalty fare in the sack," He told her, "and it won't be me wearing the eyeliner next time."

"That's a shame," Alex gave him a cheeky wink, "I thought it was rather fetching."

"Feel free to renegotiate the deal though," Gene told her.

Alex smiled and got to her feet.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked.

"Just got to give the woman with the big arse a _You Tried_ star for her attempt at bringing festive cuisine to the masses," said Gene.

"Alright, I'll wait in the car," Alex told him as she got to her feet with a smile. She began to walk away, glancing back just to inform Gene that the bed springs were feeling under-used and might wish for some entertainment that evening. Gene noted with satisfaction that at long last Alex's libido appeared to have made a stunning comeback. He was going to have to see whether he could take full advantage of this – he _had_ been having interesting thoughts about the back of the Aston Martin after all…

~X~

Alex felt happier than she had in a very long time as she walked along the corridor and down the stairs. Happier, in fact, than she had been since her return.

Finally things were starting to slot into place. Not that there wasn't still a way to go yet but after a crazy and worrying few months life was settling to an even keel.

Enough time had passed since her return that she felt fully settled back into the world again. She was still having incredible difficulty dealing with the fact that their baby was left in another word and that they had never even seen her, and she knew she always would – they _both_ would – but she knew that they were finally heading to a point where they felt able to talk about their sense of loss. Hopefully that would be the first step towards working out how to move on.

Gene's progress had continued smoothly, his motility returning and his drive to get back into work as strong as always. After coming so close to losing him Alex had learnt to appreciate every moment so much more. She hadn't even had any strange nightmares or visions for some time which had been a relief. They had started to truly unnerve her but as long as they were fading then perhaps the world was righting itself once again. Maybe she really _had_ just been sleep deprived after all.

She strode into the car park, smiling to herself as she thought about what she had planned for the night ahead. She hated to inform Gene but there would be _no_ sex in the Aston Martin. What she had in mind involved bed, handcuffs and copious amounts of coffee-flavoured ice cream.

"Long time no see."

The voice came out of the blue and shocked Alex with its darkness.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed as she spun around. There he was, the figure of darkness; Jim Keats standing right beside her as though he had appeared from nowhere.

"Not a nice way to greet an old friend," he smiled pleasantly.

"If I were you I'd make a fast exit before security give you a demo of their new Tasers," Alex told him bravely, determined not to let him see how shaken she was inside.

"_Now, now,_ that's not a very warm greeting is it?" Keats sneered, "Especially since it's been so long since I had the pleasure of your company." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter which he unfolded and showed her, "Guess what I got in the mail today?" he looked her in the eye. "Court date. Apparently your nearest and dearest is a witness to my _alleged assault_ of my previous DI."

"If you didn't want him to be a _witness_ then perhaps you shouldn't have _assaulted_ someone in front of him," she hissed, turning to walk away but he grabbed her arm. _"get off me,"_ she spat with fury,.

Keats looked her right in the eye with a fixed smile upon his face. He didn't bat an eyelid as she shrugged him away.

"That's the thing Alex," he smiled, "You've really hit the nail on the Head there. You never know when someone's going to witness what you do. If you don't want to get caught out then it shouldn't be done in the first place.

"Oh, I get it," Alex hissed, "now we're back to me and Kim, aren't we?"

"How much is your relationship worth with Gene?" Keats sneered, "I've been kind so far. But now I've got the _paper of doom_ –" he held the letter out threateningly in front of her nose," I was wondering what it would be worth to keep my mouth closed."

Alex eyed the letter.

"What are you going to do with that, give me a papercut?" she hissed. She shoved his hand away. "You're _threatening_ me? Trying to make me buy your silence? You want me to persuade Gene to drop the charges or to refuse to give evidence?"

"It's the only way you'll get to stay locked in your closet," Keats told her with a smile.

"Oh dear," Alex said bitterly, "unfortunately for you we're not all arseholes. Sometimes we do the right thing." She saw the smile freeze on his face while the rest of his expression fell. "For someone who seems to have an eye on the world you seem to miss the part where I told Gene everyone," she hissed right into his face, "he knows already. And guess what? We're still strong. And before you try taking this from the other angle I _know_ what _Gene_ did too." She felt stronger as she watched his eyes darken with anger. "So you have nothing, Keats. Absolutely nothing."

Keats seemed to shrink before her.

"Just because Gene's getting himself off at night thinking of you munching someone else's carpet doesn't mean you'll want it spread around the rest of the station though," he hissed, his smile turning into a glare.

"Why not?" she called his bluff right to his face, "half the bloody _station_ identifies as something other than one hundred percent heterosexual. There was a poll," she paused, "in the canteen. Even the sprouts identified as gay."

"But you'll still get a reputation as a tart, Alex," Keats sneered, "a slut. A slag. Cheating on your dear fiancé. Whatever will they say behind your back?"

"_I don't care,"_ Alex spat right into his face. He drew back a little as she continued. "I don't _care_, _Jim_. Do you know why?" her blood boiled and her cheeks reddened not with shame but with anger as she hissed, "because I don't regret it. Not for a moment. And do you know why?" she paused for one beat to watch his eyes darken further. "Because what happened wasn't some cheap one night stand. It was born from a close bond. From love. Because we care for one another. Because we both _wanted_ it. And that's something you never managed, isn't it?" she felt ten foot tall now as she thrust toward him the only words that would truly hurt him, "because you never managed that with either of us. It was always gas and air, always pills in the wine, always something in your eyes." She glared at him darkly, "never by our choice."

The words were like a punch to his guts

_"That's not true_," he breathed.

"You're lying to yourself, _Jim," _she hissed, "and you know that. Because you remember the blank look on my face when you tried to take what you wanted all those years ago, and the vacant eyes you saw when another 'me' fell for your tricks. You remember Kim lying there without feeling. Come on, Keats… you saw us. You've probably been giving _little Jimbo_ an airing to that image every night, haven't you?" his expression was crumbling before her eyes. "What you saw there, _Jim_ , was an act of passion between two consenting adults who cared for one another very dearly. " she looked at him one last time with vehement contempt. "And that's something you have never achieved."

As she turned and paced away from him, shaking with anger, Keats began to shake too. Sparks of fury and pangs of deep resentment grew inside of him. His eye twitched. He could still see them in his mind; the looks on their faces, their cries of passion, the look on Kim's face –

_Kim…_

A heat welled up inside of him and he let forth an almighty, angry growl that grew into a gut-wrenching, inhuman scream. Kim. _Kim._ Fucking feelings, fucking _emotions…_

He gave a second scream and thrust his head in his hands. The power and the energy that had been growing since Robin's arrival swelled to epic proportions. He'd done well to control it. He'd found ways to refine it. But now it was exploding through his body, possessing him, turning up the dial, releasing rage and fury like the world had never seen.

Alex's words played through his head again –

"…_What you saw there, Jim , was an act of passion between two consenting adults who cared for one another very dearly… And that's something you have never achieved…"_

They set off a chain reaction inside of him that released a devastating wrath, the likes of which no world had ever seen.

_That_ was the moment that something flipped inside of his mind.

The unthinkable happened. The darkness grew deeper.

The devil found a new layer of malevolent horror. And soon every last one of them would feel it.

Flames were burning.

And soon, so would they.

**~xXx~ The End ~xXx~**

_**A/N: Wow. I kind of didn't expect to finish this fic. It's not been a very nice couple of months. A couple of weeks ago I was literally a hair's breadth away from deleting all my fics and leaving FFnet. I was feeling incredibly low about them and writing in general. I'm still not feeling great to be honest, but I'm trying to put that feeling behind me. Thank you for being patient while I've struggled a bit, I admit I'm not myself right now, I'm really quite low at the moment. I appreciate the support of everyone who's read, reviewed and PMed me so much.**_

_**This was the epilogue and usually I'd give my full thanks here but there's one more chapter – a bonus, that just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it – so read on, and I hope you enjoy it :)**_


	49. Bonus Chapter: Vienna

**The Bonus Chapter**

Her eyes opened.

There was music. She recognised the song. She hadn't heard it in many years though. The music seemed to swim around her, almost as though it hung in the air like dust. Her vision was hazy and her surroundings were unfamiliar, so much so that for several moments she couldn't make any sense of them at all. In fact, she couldn't make much sense of _anything._

What exactly _happened?_

Then she remembered it; the bullet heading towards her. The bullet fired from a gun held by the man she never thought that she would see again after that one wild night in Manchester.

~X~

She'd heard the sound of the impact and the screech of the brakes right from the hotel room. She'd been about to step into the shower but had just gone to fetch her shoes from the room so that she wasn't walking around the bathroom with bare feet picking up verrucas and whatnot. The commotion outside brought her to the window and as soon as she saw a crowd gathering around a body, she knew. From everything the stranger had been telling her, she _knew_.

She quickly threw her clothes back on and tore down the staircase, not able to waste the time she'd have to wait for the lift to arrive. Her heart was thumping away, pounding like a drum. She could almost hear it ringing in her ears. She flew out of the hotel lobby and into the street beyond but the crowd were suddenly dispersing and looking confused.

"Where is he?" she'd cried, half her clothing hanging from her body and pulled on incorrectly, "where's the man who was lying here?"

"Gone," a rather confused and heavy trucker told her.

Alex scratched angrily at her head as though she had the worst infestation of lice the world had ever seen. Her head wasn't even itchy but she couldn't understand what was going on and it gave her fingers a distraction of epic proportions.

"What do you mean _he's gone?"_ she cried, "he was lying in the middle of the road, he was in no fit state to get up and –"

"He didn't get up," the trucker told her, shoving his hand down the back of his jeans to scratch at his arse-cleavage, "he just _– vanished."_

"_What?"_ her voice became more distressed with every moment that passed and her eyes moved from the trucker to the road where a large pool of red liquid was beginning to dry. Still there was no sign of the man who'd bled it out. "Where did he go? Which direction?"

"You're not listening," the trucker told her, "vanished. Gone. _Thin air."_

Alex stared, a little open mouthed,. She heard the sirens of an ambulance screaming and heard the mutters of the gathered crowd, wondering what to tell them. The words _'vanished'_, '_disappeared'_ and '_into thin air'_ were heard again and again until finally she could deny them no longer.

As her eyes focused on the road one last time she swallowed hard. It was true. He really _had_ vanished. Gene was gone.

That was the instant she knew for absolute certain that everything he'd told her was true.

~X~

For a year she'd longed to see him again. She spent nights lying awake in bed, thinking about their one night of strange closeness and scorching passion. She spent lonely days going over and over their conversations in her mind. She tried to piece together the truth, both from her memories of him and from Sam Tyler's notes. She wished feverishly that one day Gene would turn up on her doorstep or barge into her office once again. She wanted to know that he was alright; she wanted to see him one more time. They'd shared a very intense night and she hadn't even had the chance to say goodbye. There was no closure. No conclusion. She hated the fact that the loose end was left hanging forever.

Not quite forever, as it turned out.

~X~

She'd never heard of Arthur Layton.

When she received the call and attended the scene outside the Tate Modern she had no idea what she was dealing with. Events unfolded, each bringing more horror and fear to her heart. By the time she waved goodbye to Molly and Evan with a kiss she felt as though she had just lived the worst day of her life and the day had barely started yet.

"_Relax, Alex. Just drive."_

Her day grew worse.

~X~

Her heart almost stopped dead in her chest the moment Gene stepped out of the shadows.

There was already a bullet in her torso and that hadn't quite done the job but seeing him again had almost managed to finish her off. Despite the agony in her body and the fear racing through her veins there was a wave of absolute ecstasy at the sight of him standing there before her, like a beacon in the darkness that was closing in. She had longed to see his face again, but this time there was something different about him, He seemed to be standing in a haze; it was almost as though he had a glow about him, like some kind of angel.

_"It's you,"_ she'd whispered. The pain filled her vision with black spots but they didn't mask his rugged features. She still remembered every inch of his faced. She'd seen it every time she closed her eyes for the last year of her life.

_"It's me."_ Hearing his voice again filled her with a mix of excitement, exhilaration and relief. She had spent so much time worrying about him, unsure if she would ever see him again. But also she felt… _warmth_. Comfort. She felt safe.

_"You never came back."_

_"No."_

She understood why.

_"You couldn't, could you?" _

She watched as he shook his head.

_"I couldn't,"_ he said quietly.

As she questioned him, _so_ much fell into place. Despite the pain that was slowly taking her over and rendering her unable to stay awake much longer she finally made the connections. He already knew her. That much was becoming clear to see.

And if he already knew her –

That meant that she must have been -

_Over there._

_"Who am I there?"_ she'd whispered. She wasn't afraid to know the answer.

_"You're DCI Alex Drake,"_ his voice shook as he finally told her, _"head of emerging narcotics, affiliated with CID at Fenchurch East - and the soon to be Missus Hunt."_

_"You're here for me,"_ she'd whispered, "_aren't you?"_

She already knew it.

If she was honest, the truth had dawned a year before. She recalled that one night together. She remembered the way they'd clicked. It was as though he knew her already.

And maybe, on some level, she knew him.

She was ready.

"I'll see you on the other side," he promised as he sent her to the place she would call her home.

_Bang._

~X~

Her vision began to clear and she slowly sat up. The music was still playing in the distance. _Vienna_. Ultravox. She vaguely recalled some annoying incident where some damn novelty record kept it from the top spot. She needed not to think about that. It still made her angry, even now.

As she got to her feet she felt the fur coat around her shoulders tickling her at the neck and her legs felt cold as she started to realise that her skirt was as short as Evan's list of previously owned razors. She couldn't dwell on that; the rest of her surroundings were far more intriguing. She could feel the gentle rocking of the boat beneath her feet as she came to realise she was on the river still but this was not the crusty old barge where she'd spent her last few moments.

She began to weave through the crowd; a scene of utter debauchery. There was champagne flowing, rich food to one side and rich toffs all around her. As Ultravox began to reach a crescendo she stumbled blearily along, crashing into one person after another as she desperately tried to work out where she was and what was happening. What the hell were all those bizarre haircuts for? The insane fashions? Was she in a fancy dress party? Hadn't she just been shot a minute ago?

Oh _god,_ shouldn't she get to hospital? Why didn't her _head_ hurt? Why was she still walking? What –

"_Listen to my Walkman!"_ some twat tried to force the ancient technology onto her but she pushed it away crossly. She needed to find an exit. An exit, then an ambulance.

_#...This means nothing to me,…_

_This means nothing to me,…_

_Oh Vienna…#_

The music was so loud her ears were ringing as she stumbled from the boat into a walkway; similar to the one Arthur Layton had forced her along just a few moments before but this one was freshly painted and in excellent condition. A couple of coppers in what seemed to be _very_ dated uniforms rushed towards her. _One_ of them had to help her, _surely?_

"_Help me! I've been shot!"_ she cried again and again but they merely pushed her to one side as raced to the boat.

As she staggered out of the walkway and onto solid ground her eyes fell upon a wall smothered with posters. God, she recognised the face. _Adam Ant;_ easily recognisable, an icon of a generation, but certainly not the generation that Alex had just left behind. Her knees began to weaken. For the first time, as she focused on the memory of her final few moments, she recalled the man who'd pulled the trigger, the look on his face, the promise he'd made.

"_I'll see you on the other side."_

"It was _true,"_ she breathed, one hand resting at her plunging neckline while she walked on shaking, trembling, nylon-clad legs along the path, _"it was all true."_

This wasn't the grim northern seventies world that Sam Tyler had found himself a part of; this was a bright, colourful, decadent era that stood in contrast to her stony pallor and dull life back home.

She walked in a trance. It couldn't be… It just _couldn't_ be. Despite everything, she had never expected….

Even when he came to take her, she'd never really thought…

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them and looked down to her feet she saw her reflection staring back from a puddle. She slowly ran her hands over her attire. She had never seen herself looking that way before; stepping out of the smart, sensible persona she presented to the world day after day, stepping into a look that exuded life and passion from every inch of her body.

It was so real… It all felt so real.

Perhaps, she realised, that was because it _was_ real.

"Come here! It was _you!_ You little _slut!"_

Alex gasped as angry hands grabbed her and she found the Walkman-loving twat gripping her. She tried her hardest to fight her way free of him but he quickly gripped her again despite her violent struggling.

"Come here, you stupid _tart!"_ he screamed at her, "You called the police! We've been _busted!_ You called them in, you evil _bitch!_ You _did, didn't_ you?"

"What? _What?"_ She couldn't understand what he was talking about at first, then she recalled the cops on the boat and began to make a little more sense of it.

Markham's fury was only increasing.

"You're gonna regret this, _sweet cheeks,"_ he hissed.

What the hell _was_ this? She gasped and trembled in fear. How could he have done this to her; taken her to this place where she was about to die before she'd even had a chance. She knew it was going to happen. She tried hard to fight against him but the man whose Walkman had been such an important part of his life was so much stronger. There was no point calling for help, there was no one around. There was no _hope_ either. She'd trusted Gene. She'd let him take her life and this was _it? _Game _over?_

The screech of tyres caught her attention. She stared into the distance as a flash of red sped past, drawing closer and closer until it came to a screeching halt before them. What in the name of hell was happening? As though life hadn't become strange _enough!_

As the dust cleared the driver's door opened and out stepped a pair of boots. That was the part that she saw first. They made their presence known. Her eyes followed the sharp crease of his trouser leg all the way up to his torso, then to his face; a _familiar_ face. One that sent the swarm of butterflies in her tummy into spasm. One that almost took her legs from beneath her as she stumbled in surprise. Her heart was thumping and a tiny gasp escaped from her lips. The twat and his Walkman could just disappear into thin air for as much as she cared.

This was a moment she was never going to forget.

The first words out of his mouth rocked her heart and sent her lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

"_Today, my friend, your diary entry will read, 'Took a prozzie hostage and was shot by three armed bastards.'"_

She couldn't fight the broadening grin that spread across her face. Her situation should have overridden it but now that she'd seen him she'd never felt safer.

So he wasn't _exactly_ the same man that she'd gotten to know so fast. Not quite the same man with whom she'd talked so openly, nor the same man who'd put the fire back into her life on one wild and wicked night.

But he _would_ be, One day he would be.

So right now he had fewer creases on his brow, a lighter in his pocket and an attitude problem. Those were things that would change with time. She knew that. She'd seen who he would become.

And this time the roles were reversed – it was _her_ who would have to get to know a different version of someone she knew: of Gene, of that man who'd swept into her life three times, changing it a little each time he did until he finally took her to a whole new life. Back in the real world _he_ was the one seeking help from a woman who didn't know him yet. She knew that this Gene wouldn't know her from a stranger on the street. He would have to get to know her, all over again, just as the Gene she had met had done.

But there was plenty of time for that. She had a brand new life ahead of her, with Gene, and she could not wait for it to begin.

His reputation preceded him. And she was looking forward to every last moment that she would spend getting to know him for herself.

Goodbye, 2008.

Welcome to the eighties.

Welcome to your life, DCI Alex Drake; head of emerging narcotics, affiliated with CID at Fenchurch East.

And the soon to be Missus Hunt.

**~X~**

_**A/N: And that really is the end! Honestly! I just really loved 2006/7 Alex and wanted to give her a proper send-off :)**_

_**First of all, I want to say a massive thank you to Rant. For what? Well, for just about everything. Rant, thanks for all the stuff you gave me the guts to make CANON when I was scared of writing the way I wanted to any more. Thanks for the giraffes, the goats, the wooden crocs, the coffee, the chocolate, the ice cream, the showers, the handcuffs, the dishwasher and the eyeliner… and also for the Mint :) Seriously, you = awesome. **_

_**I really want every one who has reviewed to know that I appreciate your words, your comments and your thoughts even when I can't always find the energy to let you know personally, please never think I am ungrateful. I appreciate every one. It means so much to me that others have come along for this journey. Sorry, I'm sounding like a bloody sentimental fool. It's late and I'm seriously sleep deprived.**_

_**Much love and dear thanks go to Morgana, Ocean, Ranty, Charlotte (Finally on FFnet! *cheers*), Noemi, JoinTheHunt1981, sillygenie, Fenella Church, 80s Babe, purplekerrycat, Lifeinthe80s, sillivan and also the lovely anon messages, I'm sorry I don't know your name(s) to thank you properly x x**_

_**OH! And Crocfan! Who I hope actually managed to get his/her own wooden crocodile in the end! I am seriously scared that I've had fan mail for the croc. I spend thousands of words building up the characterisation of Simon, Kim and Robin; the croc gets 'Snap, snap, snap' and he gets all the messages! :D**_

_**Sorry this A/N is getting wordy; a quick message about the future. I'll be starting the sequel (gasp, shock, horror) in the next couple of days. It's going to get dark. I will warn you now. However, I know I've said this before but I am really not going to be updating as regularly; we're moving in a couple of weeks and I may be without internet access (not to mention without enough time) for a while so updates may go on hiatus or at least be more spaced out. Plus I want to pick up writing Strange Little Girl and All Good Things… again (I have been lame with All Good Things, I just haven't been in the headspace for fluff but hopefully when we've moved and the stress is out the way I can attack that with gusto! :P)**_

_**Also, two things I can't believe – I finally write a Galex smut scene and no one says a word, and I made Alex/Kim canon and no one killed me! I need to learn from this :)**_

_**Much love and goodnight x x**_

_**ETA: ARGH - I forgot - guess who got Rickrolled for the first time ever today? Yes, that's right, ME! I. AM. PISSED. OFF! I suppose it serves me right - it was probably Gene's revenge!**_


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